The Bird And The Worm
by DeducingLoki
Summary: The Joker liked to break and corrupt all of his new toys, so no one else could take them away from him. Where Harley sees an opportunity to gain the attention she always craved, The Joker sees a new toy he refuses to share. (Joker/Harley- a similar but simultaneously different take on the origin of their relationship) Rated for violence, sexual references, swearing and abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Bird and The Worm

**Rating**: M for adult themes (smoking, violence, deaths, sexual references and abuse)

**Summary**: The Joker liked to break and corrupt all of his toys, so no one else could take them away from him. Where Harley sees an opportunity to gain the attention she always craved, The Joker sees another toy he refuses to share. (Joker/Harley)

**Disclaimer**: I will never own and don't claim to own The Joker, Batman, Harley Quinn, Joan Leland or Rocko and Henshaw. Aside from Dr Peters and the other five henchmen, I own none of the characters mentioned. The Mad Love-based storyline is respective of Bruce Timm, Paul Dini and DC, and all I have done is built on its foundations.

**Author Notes**: My first attempt at a fanfiction about my beloved OTP! Words can't describe how totally and utterly in love I am with this pairing. I will elaborate further on this story and the characters and plot in the foreword beneath the cut, but I feel like the professionalism is completed if I have some fancy Author Notes. So yeah, I'd like to thank my supreme playlist and other fanfiction which have all somehow brought my baby into existence.

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**Foreword**

This fanfiction is not, contrary to the impression I may have given, a direct copy of Mad Love, which explains the canonical origin of Harley and The Joker's relationship, and how they met. Instead, I've incorporated the desired elements from the story and shifted it, so there's more focus on how exactly The Joker snaps Harley's mind, as well as a bit more detail on what happens straight after Harley breaks him out. Since there are many different versions of the main characters in existence, I feel obliged to give you a little detail into exactly which !Verse the characters come from.

**The Joker:** Despite how tempting it was to go with Heath Ledger's insanely brilliant Joker, given how dark and gritty I wanted the story to be, I went with my favourite version of The Joker and chose the video game Arkham Origins version, voiced by Troy Baker. Their mannerisms are highly similar, but The New Batman Adventures version of The Joker (Mark Hamill) is equally applicable, I guess. This version has equal balances of grittiness to humour; he resembles the original Joker, who embodied dark, evil fun with consequences.

**Harley Quinn**: Before she becomes Harley, Harleen is less canon. She's more driven by the idea of notoriety, and more intelligent than perhaps Mad Love made her seem. When she begins to snap, I gave her an equal balance of the Arkham games Harley, and the original comics Harley. I'd say to let your mind flow with her; she embodies all the version we're presented with.

I shan't keep you from the story any longer; please read and review. I would so love to hear any suggestions or praise you might have. Thank you so much for reading this, it means the world to me. Treat my baby with respect, that's all I ask.

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**Chapter One: Nothing but Lies and Crooked Wings**

**Session #1 (Harley's POV)**

You can do this, Harleen, I silently willed myself. However, no matter how many times my mind tried to reassure me that I was in a secure room and he would be severely shackled with no means of escape, I still found no successful way of scooping into a net the anxious butterflies that fluttered rather ungracefully around my belly, their beating wings more like violent lashings of a bullwhip in my stomach, a self-punishment for my own emotions. I tapped my red-coated nails incessantly on the steel desk, only pausing to occasionally type random words onto the writing document I had open on my computer screen- fear, scared, hopeless, worried, death. When I paused for afterthought, I concluded that maybe they weren't so random after all. I had no need to type at all during my sessions, the computer was there for my emailing system; everything I hoped to peel back and discover about The Joker's mind was to be written and sealed within a luscious, leather-bound notebook that was given to me as a gift within my first month triad at Arkham. I pulled out a pen from my pristine-white lab coat pocket and began clicking the cap repeatedly, before checking the clock for what must have been the tenth time. One minute left, and then they're late, I thought. Maybe he refused? Maybe they refused? Can they back out like that? Surely not. I began to stress, grinding my teeth together as the venomous thoughts swirled around my mind, rattling my brain like an empty cage would have its foundations shaken by a careless keeper. That particular day was going to be one of the most important days of my career, and, if all went to plan, my life. After four months of hard work treating far more menial cases (the usual Schizophrenic murderers and the rapists who were abused as children and only "wanted to find the attention they missed out on for so long", as I had so sourly generalised) and hours and hours of meticulous research into my desired patient's past, searching the archives for any and all interview tapes, records and documents, I was finally granted permission to treat the world renowned Joker, responsible for terrorizing the black city of Gotham for decades, the constant foil for Batman, or rather the victim of Batman's constant foiling. I understood from the moment I was told the good news how privileged I was, having only been an intern at Arkham Asylum for four months and already being given the sole assignment of treating The Joker every other day until I either cured him or gave up; although I sensed that everyone believed I'd give up after a few sessions and resign or swap. Brute determination burned inside of me when I recalled their expressions, their fake smiles and insincere emails of congratulations, knowing that they assumed I'd give up- a deep, fiery passion fuelling away in my abdomen as my heart soon became singed with the lust to succeed; I could only dream of the papers, the articles, the stories of my work successfully curing The Joker. I'd be famous, I marvelled. Everyone would love me. Look up to me. I'd be… respected.

So wrapped up in my own thoughts was I that I jumped and bit back a yell of surprise when my heavy duty door squealed open with embarrassing inelegance, and in walked two extremely well-built men, adorned with various weapons strapped to their utility belts and bulletproof vests. Dragged along behind them was The Joker himself. My heart pounded in my chest; I wasn't sure how it hadn't torn through my skin and slapped onto the ground by now. I was in the room with the most dangerous patient in Arkham Asylum, and possibly the most dangerous man on Earth, and I was about to be left alone with him, at that. My blood rushed under my skin, ice cold, and I could feel the pulse in my wrist as he winked at me- he winked at me- and I took the time the guards took in setting him in place to bask in his appearance. I knew that usually he had his own unique outfit- I'd seen the news tapes, the security footage of him in action-, but even in the Arkham uniform he was terrifying; the orange one-piece merely brought out his deathly white complexion more, making his jaded, messy hair stick out like a wolf amongst sheep, a surprisingly appropriate analogy. Surprise steered my thoughts as it finally sunk in that his face was only partially lathered in makeup; his skin was genuinely as white as untouched snow on a cold January morning, but there was thick charcoal makeup around his eyes, and obvious tramp lipstick plastered over his lips. This whole time, there was a small, childlike part of her assumed that he genuinely looked that way without the aid of clown makeup. I felt irrelevance take precedent in my mind, much to my annoyance. His eyes were a richly dark green; I could register their brilliance from across the room. Verdant flickers of light danced across the shaded emerald of his irises, and they moved predatorily with grace as the guards gruffly slammed him into the chair and clamped his body tightly down, shackling his wrists to the sides of the chair with harsh metal utilities, and strapping down his waist, his chest and his legs with a constricting leather material. His malicious but simultaneously light grin reminded me of the story of Little Red Riding Hood, when Red faced the wolf who disguised himself as the innocent grandma. My, what big teeth you have… My mind began to drift, but I quickly dismissed it when I knew it had no relevance, and there were more important things to focus on, such as the killer who now lay obediently in the chair. I watched carefully with trained, psychologist's eyes as the guards pulled up a railing system from the ground that surrounded the chair, serving as a barrier between myself and my patient. I could only get two metres close to The Joker at the very most- its infantile connotation reminding me of a cot. I supressed a snigger at how inferior and juvenile The Joker must have felt, being condescended in such a way; I prayed that he'd never get his hands on the guards; they'd be sorely punished. Then, a slither of relief began to shard into my racing, glass heart when one of the guards, a dusty blonde, handed me a panic button. The guard introduced himself as Derek, and instructed me to push the button if at any moment I felt unsafe or required their assistance for any reason. The button would only inform the two guards, and no one else in the Asylum, much to her relief. He then swiftly pointed to the other guard who nodded to acknowledge me, and told me that his name was Tom.

"Doctor, there's a reason this man gets more attention than anyone else. He's incredibly dangerous. Should you feel threatened, you now know what to do." Derek repeated as they both made to exit my office.

"Thank you, Derek, but I am sure Mr Joker and I will get on just fine. I have no further need for you two right now. But thank you again!" I called to them as they left, creaking the iron door shut again behind them, an air of hesitation swirling in their wake.

The air quickly thickened with tension and I felt the urge to calm myself down with steady breathing as The Joker remained eye contact, unnervingly trying to stare me down. Two can play at that game, buddy. I straightened my back and thus my resolve, wanting to make sure he understood that I was a friendly ear to listen to, but that I called the shots, and he would obey me.

"Good afternoon, Mr Joker. My name's Dr Quinzel, and as of right now, I am your only doctor. I will be helping to treat you and hopefully lead to your release once we straighten you out." I introduced helpfully, clicking my pen and opening the leather notebook, finding a small amount of comfort from the way it sounded- it reminded me of hours spent at the library, training and studying to become what I was now. Not that the studying got you anywhere, genius, my mind spat, but I was quick to turn aside the bitter, angry flashbacks of my adolescence, biting my lip as I waited for my patient's next move, preparing myself for any form of siege he was going to deal.

"My, my." He said at last, the icy tone making his words like ice, splitting through the air like knives to butter. My heart faltered to absorb his rich voice into my senses; I could tell from how deep and demanding it was that it could be charming but incredibly deadly all at once, and my mental barriers slid up just a few notches at the thought of how influential his words could be. I was convinced that all it took was for him to speak and people would bend over backwards to appease him. I shot him a strongly quizzical look, and his lips stretched leisurely across his long teeth as he spoke again.

"I'm a very lucky man, doc. I landed such a pretty doctor. And believe me; I've seen a fair few of docs in my time. You have looks on your side, kid." He cheeped, as I felt my cheeks betray my cool resolve by warming and burning, surprised my skin wasn't sizzling with the heat they were enduring. I smiled lightly, accepting the compliment and trying my hardest to not show the effect his words had had on me. He was complimenting me on my appearance. I was both flattered and slightly concerned.

"Thank you, but you and I are both aware that we're here not to pay compliments based on each other's appearances. How are you feeling today?" I asked, pressing pen to paper eagerly. The Joker chuckled, and I frowned as I tried to assess what had amused him; I wasn't aware that the sincerity came off as anything other than earnesty. He shrugged, sensing my confusion, before chirping, "I'm feeling great, doc. Not like some of the loons I've seen today." I seized the opportunity, although inwardly cringed at how unsubtle I was.

"Well, you claim that they're loons, but they are being held in the same facility as you. What do you think sets you apart from them? Would you not describe yourself as crazy, or insane?" He cackled, throat rasping as he nodded. There was an undertone of secrecy that laced his laugh, as if I was missing out on some bigger picture. I didn't like it.

"Why my dear, I'm utterly insane! But I flourish in insanity, you see. But I prefer to call myself a visionary, thank you very much." I gestured with open hands for him to elaborate, relieved that I felt more settled and that my hands weren't shaking anymore; the conversation was finally taking a steady rhythm as we both found our paces. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, as if he was about to take centre stage in a Broadway performance that the president had chosen to sit in and see himself. Talk about a flair for the dramatic.

"In the grand scale of things, we are tiny. We, as a planet, are insignificant. If the scientists are right and there are millions upon millions of galaxies, most being larger than our own, then we are practically non-existent as it is. And I find that hilarious! You… petty people fuss about taxes and relationships and trivial things like what you're going to have for dinner or whether not you want to go to some trashy party where everyone grinds up against each other, when really none of it matters. You choose to stress and worry until you're worn to the bone over nothing! The world is just one big, fat joke and yet no one but me seems to be laughing! If people learnt to laugh more, maybe they'd find that everything gets easier. The world's a joke, doll, and I'm just along for the laughs." I sat up straighter, finished scrawling messy notes of his view on the world as an idea came to me, hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"Is that why you call yourself The Joker, then? Because… the world's a joke and you're trying to make everyone see that and laugh too? You're… you're delivering the punch line, right?" He looked faintly surprised, swiping his tongue over his teeth as his already impossible grin only widened further. All I could think of was the Cheshire Cat.

"Very good! I'm impressed. You catch on quick, kid; far quicker than anyone else who's tried to talk to me." There was a short silence as I processed that the most dangerous man that I would ever encounter was impressed by my assessment. I sat still and rigid, waiting for him to say something else, more gold for me to type up and use in my planned book, detailing the successful treatment of The Joker; more fuel for fame. He gave me the quick once over with those insightful hawk's eyes, before dragging his gaze to mine once again. I felt slightly violated and raw, as if all my secrets were exposed and ripe for his pickings. I was right.

"You wear a lot of red, doc. On your shirt, your nails, those doll shoes, your hairband, even your lipstick! Little hints of red, hidden in plain sight. It's almost like you want attention…" He trailed off, and I felt my cheeks heat up again. I hadn't had any reason to blush for months, and yet in the space of well under an hour, The Joker had brought colour to my cheeks twice, without even having to have said anything completely mortifying. I sighed softly, sensing there wouldn't be a good outcome for this.

"So what, maybe I like the colour red?" I tried. He cackled lightly as he shook his head, scraping his gaze to the ceiling as if it were a laborious task, a speech he'd already uttered a thousand times. The Broadway performance can grow old quickly, when you're used to praise.

"It's a provocative colour, that's all… There's more than just looks that make you pretty, my dear. Your name is even prettier and more valuable to me. Harleen Quinzel- rework and tweak it around a bit, and you get-"

"-Harley Quinn, like the clown character Harlequin. I know; you'd be surprised to know that you're not the first to have pointed that out!" The grin didn't falter for a moment on his face as he stared at the creaking fan above him, deep in entertaining thoughts that spelt trouble in all of my books.

"Do your friends call you Harley?" He asked, a sly undertone present in his voice. I narrowed my eyes, briefly sensing that there was again a secret joke I was missing out on. Despite this, I saw no harm in giving a little more about myself; although it was unlikely, the possibility did exist that he'd feed off of the personal information I gave him about myself and feel inclined to do the same. The typical psychiatrist quid pro quo relationship didn't seem like the type of thing that The Joker would go for, but at that point, I was grasping at loose ends, thrown in at the deep end.

"Everyone I know calls me Harley, including myself… but I don't have many friends, so it's a moot point." A look of surprise quickly spilled across his features, and his eyebrows rose to give the most brilliant expression. The light above him danced over his viridescent eyes, and I felt compelled to stare. However, I was pulled from my reverie when he spoke suddenly and sharply, demanding attention.

"I'm not surprised, actually. A rookie like you, four months into your internship and already being granted access to the most high-profile and dangerous man in Arkham? You must feel honoured to be in my company; and you must have really done your homework." He drawled, comprehension dripping from his tone. I froze in place, shock coursing through my veins and briefly making my heart plummet, suddenly realising from when he began to compliment my name that I had never actually given The Joker my full name in the first place; I had told him that my name was Dr. Quinzel, never having once mentioned my first name for him to go on to then nickname me Harley. Furthermore, I didn't tell The Joker at all that I was new.

"H-how would you know all that? I never told you my first name was Harleen, or that I've only recently been placed here. Perhaps it's you that's done the thorough homework." I spoke uncertainly, treading delicately, fighting the tremble from my voice as I noticed his grin dissolve into a sinister, snarling image, lips curling over his teeth. I watched in horror as his restraints pulling tighter across him as he strained against them with all his might, irrational fear rocketing through me that the leather and metal would snap and fall apart, exposing me to his evil. He pulled towards me as much as he could, only managing to lean ever so slightly to one side as he growled like a cornered animal; frightened, lashing out, as angry as it could muster.

"Well, I know you don't have to give someone your full name to get what you want; all you have to do is sleep with them. A slutty teenager like you used to be? You probably slept your way to me. What a funny thought! You literally slept your way to treating me. I'm flattered, doc, I really am." He howled with laughter, making me visibly tremble this time as I thoughtlessly pressed the panic button in my pocket. He noticed my hand move and ceased to quietly watching me struggle to control my brain as Derek and Tom burst in violently, immediately raising their guns to The Joker, who whooped with delight.

"Is everything alright, Quinzel?" Tom asked, his abrupt, Irish accent suddenly screaming authority. I nodded, shakily walking across the room to my desk, holding my hand to my head in the hopes of looking convincingly ill.

"I am sorry to alarm you, boys. It's n-not what my patient's done, but it's me. I'm… I'm feeling awfully sick and having cramps; my friend had the same bug yesterday with the same symptoms, and I must have caught it. I'm afraid I need to call this meeting short. Sorry, Mr Joker, I-I will see you on Wednesday." I bid them farewell and The Joker was taken back to his cell, cackling in passing. I deliberately kept my head bowed, hoping that the disastrous first session had been a fever dream, or a nightmare. I collapsed at the desk, the image of the contorted, mysterious yet compelling lunatic burnt into my retinas. I let out a broken, dry sob as I realised that it was going to be so much tougher than I anticipated. At least we have meetings every other day; I can skip tomorrow to make sure they're convinced I was ill and that it wasn't to do with that creep, and then I can try again on Wednesday. I need to review some tapes again, I decided, gathering my belongings and slamming the door shut as I pressed my thumb to the ID pad and did the same again at the exit of the Asylum. If I was going to succeed, I needed to show more mental strength than I had done for the first day. Determination stopped my shaking and restarted the fire in my chest. I was hell bent on succeeding and gaining fame and attention for my work with The Joker; that lunatic has no chance of stopping me, I thought; I was so certain back then.

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**A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know and I'll try my best to meld it in to my work. There should be a new chapter up by Friday.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Please, please R&R! I'd love for you guys to let me know what could be done better or what I'm doing right or whatever.**

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**Chapter 2: There's Something Very Damaged About You**

**Session #2 (Joker)**

The Joker never really had the time for anyone but himself, and of course his beloved foe, Batman. Ever since he was a small child, he could distinctly remember breaking his toys just for the sole purpose of ensuring no one else would want to play with them; he chuckled as he recalled his hatred for sharing his things. It was during that spiteful period of his childhood when he showed a worryingly strong affection for dolls that little girlies tended to play with, or rather a strong affection for tearing their limbs apart and perform cruel, malicious acts of violence on them. At the age of only five, it seemed appropriate for any adult to show concern for a child who took delight in ripping apart the limbs of both male and female Barbie Dolls. Flash forward thirty years, and nothing had really changed for the clown, except that his toys had upgraded several sizes, and came with new, exclusive features such as "talking", and sometimes "fighting back". He loved it when they fought back; it made him feel all the more powerful when he defeated them, demonstrating and force-feeding them on a blood-splattered platter that he was always destined to come out on top. Dominance was exactly The Joker's forte. As he stared at the stony wall, contemplating this, and watched as the moonlight danced across the uneven and harsh stones, his constantly spinning mind drifted to his precedent thought of the past few days; his new doctor. Like a spider spinning down the plughole, his thoughts took many directions but ultimately led back to one main point. For their first meeting, he had feigned a vast range of emotions, allowing them to only get skin-deep before allowing the acid he felt in his veins to destroy them, but to his annoyance he didn't have to feign impression when she perceptively made the link between his name and how he viewed the world. Although he didn't tend to like people much, he was fairly _satisfied_ with his doctor. _My doctor_, he thought with a grin. _My deceitful, inexperienced, pretty doctor. Doctor sounds a lot like doll, now doesn't it? _He sat up from his uncomfortable bed, using his keen awareness for time to remind him that his guards would arrive at any given moment for another session with his doctor. _Provided she hasn't scarpered, _his mind whispered, making him chuckle darkly. Before he could sink down again into a fresh line of thought, the sharp clang pierced his ears as his cell's door opened, screeching in protest. In walked the two guards, frowns set on their faces, eyebrows so furrowed that both of their eyes were partially concealed from him. As Tom stood by the door and watched intently, Derek carried on forward to take the patient out. He began to stand up as he thought to ask of his doctor.

"Say, my cheery amigo, is my darling doc in today?" The Joker sang, and sat back a little when the guard grunted an unenthusiastic confirmation. Even he could admit that he was surprised that Harley would lie about feeling ill and call in sick the day after to embellish her lie. It made no sense to him; no one ever lied for his sake; why would they? What could she possibly have to gain from lying in his favour? Either she was desperate to stick with him and gain some profit from his presence, or she genuinely was sick. He struggled to believe either. As a renowned king of liar, he could tell a lie when he saw one, and his precious doctor was no exception to that rule.

The next question he needed to ask was what he should do with said doctor. She was so easy to unbalance in the first place; simply suggesting she used sex to manipulate her grade outcomes was enough to make her end the session early, if that was the trigger, the bullet set loose from his mouth. She was one of the rare little _birds_ that would spend their whole life teetering on the incredibly thin line separating sanity from insanity. All it took was the right push, and she'd plunder into the murky depths of insanity and meet him there. He relished the thought of watching such an exquisite, perceptive mind twist until it was tainted with his own paint, his own blood. He licked his lips in anticipation, knowing that the girl had already proved she'd be loyal under the right circumstances, and that she was his only ticket out of Arkham, without using brute force. He fancied a change, deciding that she was another toy to break so no one else could have her.

"I'm the Joker," he growled, clenching his fists. _Even my title tells the world that I'm an entertainer. I should make good of my name, and show Harley just how funny the world is- she got a taste last time_

"Oh, this is going to be fun." He vowed. The guard chided him, telling him to shut up, but a thousand gruff silencing commands couldn't cease the grin that The Joker currently wore across his teeth, bared like a predator that finally understood his prey. As they exited his cell and began the walk to Harleen's office, he decided to spark what little brains the two guards had, give them fuel for thought when they thought they were alone.

"You boys should ask for more for the work you do. With such a small salary, I wouldn't be surprised if one day, boom! You snapped in two. Like little twigs!" The Joker howled, giggles breaking through every few words he pronounced with extra enthusiasm; _pack as many punches as you can_, he instructed himself. Derek, the guard who was always most irked by The Joker, growled and pushed the patient faster by his shoulder blade, almost pushing him over totally.

"Shut it, clown, before I give you more scars to talk about."

"Yeah, sickos like you need to knuckle down and shut up. I ain't gonna to listen to a sack of shit boss me around. Our salary has nothing to do with you." Tom enforced, cracking his knuckles as The Joker felt the gun press harder into his side, making him laugh more. The cool metal did nothing but tickle.

"Really, you boys kiss your mothers with that mouth? Well, I'll have to let your darling mommies know when I see them next. Maybe they'll punish you, if you know what I mean! Ha!" He whooped. Derek stopped and grabbed The Joker by the throat, clenching as tight as he could to ensure and demand attention. The Joker pretended to choke, causing Derek to release him quickly and step back, not wanting to be caught murdering Arkham's most valuable prisoner.

"No, don't let go yet- I like it rough. As does your mother, I discovered!" The Joker laughed. Derek moved forward but Tom restrained him, a meaty arm slamming in front of his chest to stop him.

"Don't, man. He's trying to piss you off. It'll piss him off more if you ignore it. The sooner that blonde goody-two-shoes can straighten him out, the better. Until then, hold it in." Tom warned him, and Derek exhaled sharply before resuming their sharp stalk to Quinzel's office.

When they arrived, his grin widened when he saw her already sat in position, as close as she knew she could get before the guards would pull the barriers up to prevent either from closer contact, seeing The Joker as a threat. _Me, a danger? Preposterous, _he denied with a small giggle. He coughed to cover his amusement as he was unceremoniously thrown into the seat, sensing his shackles were snapped into place with more force than usual.

"Oh, I am sorry Derek. I didn't know you were a mommy's boy. I'll remember that for next time." He cackled. Derek sighed heavily as he nodded to Harley and slammed the door behind him, saying nothing. The doctor clucked in disapproval and shifted slightly, and it was painfully obvious that she was still affected from when The Joker had remarked so crudely about her.

"My dear, before going any further with our little chat, I'd like to apologise for what I said and how I acted last time. You see, I don't know if you were told or not, but on the very day of our session, they switched my medication. I have it on my records that I tend to swing for, shall we say, violent outbursts and erratic behaviour when they change my meds. It's horrible for both me and anyone near me at the time." He said, barely able to contain the glee as she watched her previously sharp-set face melt into submission and even a hint of pity, the sparkle in her eyes glowing with radiance as she utterly fell for his excuse. _How conveniently timed my medication switching was, _he reflected. _I mean, yes, they did change my meds on that day, but I was well aware of my behaviour. And she fell right for it! How trite._

"No need to apologise, Mr Joker. I understand. I'm sorry for calling our appointment so short; you have to understand that I was unsettled and ill. It won't happen again, I promise." She purred, subconsciously chewing down on her lip. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if that mannerism was deliberately provocative, or if it was just an innocent habit for a not so innocent girl; the typical traumatic event or tragic backstory blocking off a certain chunk of her memory to allow for a different, more innocent persona to take shape despite her true nature. _All it needs is the right push_, he repeated in his mind from his earlier reflection of his doctor.

"So, what's on the agenda for today, doc?" He trilled, and she smiled tightly as she clicked her pen and began to press to paper, jotting notes already. The quick flicks of her wrists showed she tended to be quite a manic, hyper person; not the type for precision and perfection. He smiled wryly at that, reminded a little of himself back before he completely snapped.

"I thought we'd try some word association, if that's alright with you." _Oh, joy, _The Joker internally grumbled, but kept the grin wide as he shrugged.

"Your word is law." He said simply.

"Insanity." She began, her eyes concentrated on him but her pen still at the paper, ready to resume scrawling at any minute. _How attentive you are,_ The Joker purred.

"Fun!" He countered with a throaty laugh.

"Recklessness."

"Youth." He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at how tedious the game was becoming already, predicting his doctor's response would be about immortality.

"Eternity." _Close enough, _he reasoned.

"Death!" He cheered.

"Pain."

"Murder!"

"Abuse."

"…Father." He said, making sure to sound quieter to really attract her attention. She sat up, her eyes wide. _Geez, you'd think she'd at least try to hide it,_ he noticed cynically.

"Tell me about your father." She invited, and he took a deep breath and cleared his throat as if there was a large audience hanging off his every syllable.

"Well, when I was a young child, I was actually brought up by my uncle and aunt. It was believed that my father actually died in a fire after my mother died giving birth to me, or something, They were lovely, lovely people; very kind, but made sure that I worked hard to achieve what I wanted. They didn't mollycoddle me, and for that I am glad. However, I left the house more and more after I started an apprenticeship with some old codger, Ben? I think his name was Ben. Anywho, one day I strayed too far and for too long whilst receiving some particular training, and when I returned, I found my uncle and aunt had been burnt to death by terrorist forces. I… I took training more seriously, in the hopes that I could avenge my aunt and uncle. On the way, I met a woman and fell in love with her, but then I discovered she was actually my sister who had been raised by a different family. Together, we discovered our heritage and that led us to actually find our father! In some cruel twist of fate, it turned out that our father was the boss of the terrorist forces, and he told me after he tried to cut my arm off-"

"-Joker, I'm not stupid! That's from Star Wars!" The doctor cried, amusement lightly dancing in her bright blue eyes. He exploded into a roaring laugh, no longer able to drown in the restraint of his amusement, reverberating off of the walls and bouncing back to himself and showering over his doctor. She joined in with laughing, and he could tell that just for a moment, she lost herself and seemed a completely different, more natural woman. Her laugh wasn't too bad after; the years of what must have been restraint seemed to have an effect, causing her to sound so much more maniacal and almost _wild_. However, when she managed to open her eyes and realised he was watching her, she sat up straighter, sighed and blinked slowly to collect herself. She adjusted the glasses on the perch of her nose, and began jotting down notes.

_The fool can't even laugh properly without worrying, _the voice in his head sneered. _Guess I'll have to teach the broad how to laugh again, too. It's obvious she used to be able to laugh, I saw it just then- but she clearly feels that she has to restrain herself. Poor girl, imagine not being able to laugh properly just to treat a bunch of loons! I'll have to straighten that out, too. _A moment of golden inspiration struck him like a lightning bolt, and he almost jolted from the impact, a crashing weight on his mind and stopping his heart for a fraction of a second. _Why didn't I see that sooner?! This is all about her professionalism. Laughing is seen as a lack of said professionalism, and a lack of that would make her feel inadequate. It would make her world collapse. Oh, that is brilliant. _

Somewhere, buried deep in the perverse corner of his brain where even he sometimes didn't wander to purposely, the thought of his meticulous, well-kept doctor curled up at his feet on the stony ground, clothes ripped in tatters, hair bedraggled with a potion of blood and sweat, her pale, precious skin adorned with scars, her mouth marred with deep gashes on either side to make her lips look like his own awoke a part of him he rarely cared to remember. He supressed a low growl as he shifted slightly, biting down on his own lips, feeling suddenly just slightly hot under the collar, tension building and making him restless, silently hoping he could hold himself in so she wouldn't see the effects he was undergoing. Because he knew that she would _definitely_ see them.

In that moment, that simple second, The Joker made a decision. For almost the first time, The Joker made a definite decision and intended to stick by it. _I'll corrupt that brute's mind and twist it, make her solely under my control. I'd thrill her, open her eyes, change her, bend her so far back that she'll snap in two, just like a Barbie Doll. No one else will want her then, and she'll be solely mine. She will be my own Frankenstein's monster, my experiment. I will drag down the prissy perfect Harleen Quinzel to my level, and bring out the feral Harley Quinn that I know exists in there somewhere. My Harley Quinn._

"Is… everything okay, Mr Joker?" His doctor asked, snapping The Joker from his menacing reverie and making him feel as if he'd been slapped round the face. His grin widened as he turned from her to look above him at the creaking ceiling fan, schemes and plans floating around his brain and muttering sinister intents, dripping mercury into his ears.

"Why, my dear, everything just got a whole lot better."

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**A/N: I'm sorry, but I absolutely couldn't resist waiting until Friday to publish the next installment. I really wanted to get the Star Wars reference out there, too; a fitting little cameo for the darling Mark Hamill!**


	3. Chapter 3

**This one's a little longer by a few hundred words, and for that I apologise. But not only is it my favourite chapter, but also one of my fantasies, if you will. In all my time, one of the only things I've ever wanted to see is what happens in this chapter. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!**

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**Chapter Three: Say Goodbye, As We Dance With The Devil Tonight**

**(Harley)**

I could barely supress a groan as I slammed my finger on the coffee machine, pouring myself a vigorously energizing cup of coffee. I tried my hardest to smile warmly as my only friend in Arkham, Dr Joan Leland, entered with her own mug gripped tightly amongst paled knuckles. I was surprised to note that Joan had already had at least one mug-worth of coffee, clear from the dark brown smudges that decorated the mug's rim. She'd never been one for excessive coffee drinking; I'd received many a lecture about the damaging effects of caffeine after long periods of time. I smiled wryly as I remembered them.

Joan had essentially trained and prepared me and helped me with progression to earning the opportunity to see to The Joker's treatment; not only had she given me a variety of techniques that many successful foreign psychologists used to break even the most stubborn minds and release them from their various torments, but she'd also given me a range of useful research skills to help me delve into The Joker's psychosis when the time came. Not to mention the fact that in my absences she would big me up to Peters, Arkham's co-director and in charge of the patient-side of the asylum. Joan's warning when she first took me on a tour around Arkham's fifth band when I told her I aspired to work with the most notorious patients still rung clear as day in my brain.

"I'll warn you right now that these are hardcore, dangerous psychotics. Not the types you see on NCIS, but genuine, cold-blooded murderers. If you're thinking of writing a tell-all book about them, I'd advise you to think against it. They'd eat a rookie like you for breakfast… and I suspect one or two of them in particular might enjoy it." It was her last point about the patients that would enjoy it that repeated itself like a broken record in my mind. At that precise moment, I had been standing in front of The Joker's empty cell, knowing he would have been in there had he not been at a physical examination. And there I was, looking in an empty piranha bowl.

"Morning, Harleen." Joan trilled, waking me from my dozy contemplation.

"Hey Joan. How are you?" I sighed, returning my now steaming cup to my lips, delicious warmth sliding down my throat and cosily embracing my insides. Instantly, I felt more awake and alert; the wonders of coffee never ceased to please me.

"I'm not doing too badly for a Thursday morning, surprisingly. And how are you? If you don't mind my saying, you look tired. Has treating The Joker started taking its toll yet?" She asked with reservation, tenderly crossing the tightrope that bordered insulting me. If she fell off the rope, she'd be in deep and she knew it. She had seen me at my best, and what she thought was my worst. She was wrong about that of course, but I was complacent to let Joan believe that she'd seen my extremities, and I was flattered that she was cautious enough to avoid them, flattered that I had that effect on such a steely-nerved woman.

"No, you're right. I'm so tired! I barely slept last night; I don't think it was related to The Joker, though. It was a restless night, you know? I was having weird dreams and kept hearing strange noises. I've only moved into that apartment last week, so my brain's still getting used to it, plus the recent stress of Joker... I've given up and just come in; maybe I could sneak a nap in the office." I admitted, rubbing my forehead tiredly. _I'm definitely going to get worry lines early, _I thought sadly.

"Well, that sure sounds odd- I hope you sleep easier soon. It would affect your work, otherwise," She said, frown b Anyway, speaking of your patient, how are things progressing with him?" She asked.

"It's too early to tell, I'm afraid. He's very… opinionated, I'll tell you that. But I can't seem to scratch the surface just yet. I'm hopeful, though; apparently, I'm in the running to be the most successful with his treatment to date. The most sessions any psychiatrist has ever had with The Joker is four. By then they either cracked under the pressure or gave up; I put your advice and tips to good use in regards to my research, including research of the other psychiatrists involved. Yet, in our first session, he told me about _why_ he chose to act the way he acted. I have never seen anything like that in any of the tapes I've researched. I won't be so egotistical as to call it a breakthrough, though… not yet." I chuckled, voice picking up with excitement as I got further along in my tale. I couldn't contain my pride, and I hoped she'd join me in the eagerness. She didn't disappoint; Joan looked as ecstatic as anyone early in the morning could.

"Harleen, that's excellent! Be sure to report that to Dr. Peters. He'll want to know that. Although maybe tone down the enthusiasm; you know how it turned out when he tried to get somewhere with your patient!" Joan exclaimed. I giggled and nodded, even though I barely registered what she was telling me, to wrapped up in my own choking pride.

"As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I'm afraid I must leave. I have another session with Watkins in a few. If I have to hear one more misogynistic statement come out of that creep's mouth, I may end up being locked up here myself! See you soon, Harleen." She laughed and waved goodbye, a fresh cup of piping hot coffee in her clutches. I grabbed my own and headed slowly to the elevator, stabbing the button with a crooked finger, directing it to the seventh floor. _Not in the mood today_, my mind grumbled.

"Trust my office to be on the highest floor in the building," I muttered. _Trust it to be on one of the fifth band levels with the most dangerous patients, too. The fact that my office, and myself, is at the most only a few minutes' walk from The Joker makes me… _I faltered as I struggled to comprehend how exactly I felt about it. I stepped out of the now halted elevator and swiftly clonked to my office, high heels reverberating off of the walls. I laughed at the irony of a psychiatrist not being able to introspect her own brain, shaking my head as I pressed my thumb to the ID pad, blinked slowly at the green beginning to shine around the pad's rim, and then with a click, I entered my office with a widening smile. It smelt new and freshly painted, just like new houses or newly built apartments did. Something about the cosy, warm and inviting smell made me happier. I also, however, felt sleepier, the coffee's effects wearing off and eventually doing nothing to hold open my drooping eyelids.

"Need… to find… that dripping stuff at… my apartment…" I wearily vowed, slumping into my chair and groggily logging in to the computer, hoping the screen's brightness would frighten my eyes into obeying my groggy brain. _No new emails_, I thought, a hint of relief nestled amongst my business. _Perfect. I'll check in with Peters, and then try to rest._

"Hello, Dr Peters, seventh." The monotonous voice responded upon picking up the phone. I chewed on my lip absentmindedly as I slouched in the swivelling chair.

"Hello sir, it's Harley. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure I didn't have any tasks set out for me today."

"Harleen, how many times do I have to tell you? You work with The Joker every other day. On the days you don't have a session, I expect you to go home and research, analyse your findings, write reports or whatever. And on some of those free days, take rests. The Joker is the highest, most challengingly stressful case we have and will _ever_ have. He's the most dangerous, and tiresome. You have nothing to do but research today. Okay? Don't call me unless it's urgent." He snapped. _Oh give me a break,_ I scowled.

"Okay, sorry for interrupting. Thanks!" I responded, plastering on a smile as I bothered to fake pleasantries with him. He swiftly hung up, and I rolled my eyes, clumsily slamming the phone on the hook. The edges of my vision were beginning to blur, and I wondered just why I was as tired as I was. "I got a lot less sleep than I thought I did," I supposed. I leaned forward to rest my entire chest and crossed arms on the desk, wasting no time in closing my eyes as I laid my head on top of my crossed arms, embracing myself. As if on an automated setting, the moment my eyes closed, my brain seemed to switch off, darkness dancing around in what little consciousness I had left, having an eerily calming effect in my mind. However, like the sea I felt washed along in my mind, the calm came before the storm, and come it did.

My eyes quickly fluttered open, confused as the strong odour of damp, stale air invaded my nose and swirled in my brain, making it ache dully with the cool air. I was greeted with the gritty feel of roughly chiselled stone on my cheek, and I focused on the stone-brick walls, recognising with deathly cold fear that it was the interior of a cell. I pulled myself swiftly to my feet, heart beginning to race erratically as it completely sunk in that I was _in a cell._ I immediately recognised the glass of the front of the cell where doctors could look in at their patients, and using the size of the glass along with the keypads I spotted on the cell opposite my own, I worked out that not only was I trapped in a locked cell, but I was in a cell from the fifth level; the level of the most psychotic and dangerous of all the patients.

"Shit, shit, shit, no!" I muttered, leaning into the glass, forehead pressed to the cool surface. The other cells surrounding mine were all empty, and I felt my muscles fuse together, frozen, blood cold as I realised I was utterly alone- where had they all gone? I was at a loss, torn between deciding if I should be more worried about where they were, or why I was inside a cell, and also, the other obvious question pressing on my mind that I didn't dare investigate. I glanced fearfully to the end of the corridor and noticed the exit, sickness churning away in my stomach when I began to place just _whose_ cell I was in, by looking at how I was the last cell at the end of the corridor, and the patient number stamped to the keypad beside the glass, only just visible. I whipped around and pressed my back to the glass, hyper-aware that the cell's inhabitant might be locked in with me, breath escaping my lips in thin bursts of pure terror and adrenaline. The cell was empty, and relief briefly flooded my senses, drowning me in a pool of serenity before harsh and cruel reality pulled me out screaming and launched me into a dry pit of fear of sharp edged stones cutting and biting at my skin, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. I shakily approached the left wall, fingers outstretched but never daring to even ghost the air surrounding what then captured my attention. 'Welcome to the madhouse' was scrawled across the brickwork, words still glistening with a deep, spine-chilling crimson. I tried my hardest to ignore the rusty smell of drying blood that began to blanket my senses, and my knees and lips trembled as my suspicions over whose cell it was were completely confirmed.

I took two timid steps backwards, before I felt my back collide unexpectedly with something hard, yet soft all at once. It felt all too much like a body, and nausea pervaded my insides and turned my stomach. Slowly, I turned to match my stomach's flips, hands splayed protectively by my sides as I felt my usually tied back hair flop down to frame my face, the ping of the hairband snapping doing nothing to lessen my concentration on maintaining my composure. My brain began to scream, unintelligible white noise blocking my thoughts as I reached the subject of my spinning and was greeted with none other than the sight of The Joker himself.

He grinned, his emerald eyes dancing with mischief and something else, more dark and sinister than I wanted to believe. I opened my mouth to scream, only to be interrupted by one of his bony hands clamping over my lips and quickly reeling me backwards and to the left, slamming me into the glass. I closed my eyes with the impact, and when I managed to pry them open, looked down at my clothes, which caught my eye for looking foreign, different to the usual attire I wore at Arkham. A mangled gasp spilled from my smothered lips as I found myself wearing a ball gown.

Subconsciously, I knew that had I not been currently held against my will by the most dangerous man in Gotham- and probably the planet-, I would have taken the time to marvel over what I found myself wearing. The dress was a rich, deep purple, with lime green trimmings- The Joker's colours, I noted-, accentuating my curves flatteringly. The dress' trail swept the floor, making my inner-child feel slightly like Cinderella, attending the royal ball. However, I couldn't ignore the fact that I was being pressed against a glass wall by The Joker, and so naturally I began to squirm and wriggle, desperate to escape, to be free of this nightmare. As my brain's fog of confusion began to clear of the situation, my subconscious had already realised it was a dream, and my mind was beginning to awaken and see it also, leaving only the context of the dreamto confuse me.

However, the thumb of the hand he held to my mouth began to stroke my face almost tenderly, his hushes and soft demands for silence laced with sinister, dark undertone. I looked up from my dress to stare at my captor, and noticed in surprise that his Arkham uniform had disappeared whilst I was admiring my own clothes, replaced with a well-tailored black suit, a pristine and crisp white shirt beneath it. Somewhere in the foolish corner of my brain that I listened to far too often, I found the nerve to cock an eyebrow, hoping that our relationship was strong enough despite only having had two sessions together for him to spare me my life. Perhaps if he saw that I wasn't a threat, he'd release me. Before I could speak or even make another move to flee, I suddenly felt nothing against my back to support me. However, gravity managed to keep me standing up, to my utter bewilderment.

My eyes left my mysterious captor and grazed my new surroundings. I was no longer pressed against the glass but in the middle of a ballroom, lavish like ones you'd see only on movie sets or only the highest classes' manors, like something Bruce Wayne would keep his dogs in or something- did Bruce even have dogs? My mind began to ramble, crumbling around me like a burning building. Despite my awareness of the dream, I was still in a state of confusion and fear, the dream being far too realistic. Rather unwillingly, my eyes slowly returned to stare at The Joker, who at once released his skeletal hand from my mouth. Although I saw it as his way of inviting me to scream or yell, I found I no longer wanted to, far too entranced and enthralled and befuddled by what was happening to focus on the serial killer who had just pressed himself against me in an effort to silence me, which had appallingly, worked.

My head snapped up to look at the large glass dome, finely embellished with gold laces and an impressive chandelier, made of crystalline that caused the light to dance and fragment into millions of pieces all across the room. Moonlight poured through the transparent dome ceiling and washed over myself and The Joker, making his complexion all the more unnerving and inhuman. I started when the familiar tune of one of my favourite classical songs, "Clair De Lune" began to play. My eyes desperately skirted the room, trying to find the source, as if finding where the beautiful, soft music was playing from would make me see sense of the entire situation.

The Joker seemed to notice my confused expression and began to chuckle, but not in his usual, cunning way. Now it seemed to have meaning, purpose… reason. Ironically, the only thing that seemed to make sense was the most enigmatic object in the room. And also the most dangerous object. Said object slowly hooked a strong, muscled arm around my waist and pulled me to him. I felt like a magnet being attracted by an opposing force, although I wasn't convinced that being held close was so bad after all; it was a comfort, a balm, almost protection from the abstraction of the situation. The creeping sense of horror began to build in my stomach as I realised that some part of me wasn't fussed, and rather enjoyed the situation, being held so strongly by someone. Before I could analyse myself further, my attention was snapped up when from the corner of my eye, I saw a lone playing card flitter to the floor from seemingly thin air.

I stared at it dumbly, realising it was a black Joker card. Another playing card flapped to the ground a moment later, landing directly beside it. It was a red Queen. I raised an eyebrow when I felt my face being tightly pinched by strong fingers, being gently but firmly directed back to The Joker. He released me, and with his deceitful, enchanting, brilliant eyes, somehow persuaded the dark and personal pocket of my heart to let go of the fears that plagued and controlled me. After all, I knew it was a dream, and the reckless and suppressed side of my brain saw no harm in living in the moment. Without daring to stop and think about it logically and allow myself to stop, I wrapped my slender arms around his neck, making my chest press against his. His grin widened, the moonlight beautifully cast against his long mischievous teeth. We began to sway in unison, dancing slowly on the spot to the music's soothing rhythm. After a minute of silent dancing, my not daring to look anywhere but directly in his piercing eyes, his free hand that wasn't around my waist took one of my wrists from around his neck and spun me away from him. I giggled lightly as the room span and the air flowed through my silky hair, before I quickly allowed myself to be pulled back to him. I placed a hand on his chest, steadying myself, and cocked an eyebrow in surprise at just how muscled he was beneath the suit. He always looked so lanky and lean when I treated him, but as it turned out, his uniform had inconveniently covered a well-toned form all along. The moonlight gave his deep green hair a mystical quality, the light jumping around the strands and making some of them shades of an oceanic blue, others a murky green. He looked far healthier than usual, and I wondered if the Asylum was treating him as well as they claimed to have. In comparison to how he actually looked during our sessions and how he appeared in my dream, I assumed that they'd been neglecting him somewhat. I didn't think to ask as he spun me again, the grin only ever stretching wider over his lips. _How is it possible to smile that much?_

However, I began to slow down as I saw from the corners of my vision a deep, shady darkness beginning to swarm. My head snapped in alarm to The Joker, for once looking to him for help. The irony would have made me laugh, had the alarm not taken prime residence in my mind. He pulled me back to him, and I squeaked as I stumbled before ending up with him crushing my chest to his with brute force as his head stooped down close to my cheek, lips just brushing past to get to my ear. The tension made her heart speed up, like a hummingbird about to take flight

"I'll see you soon, doll face," He murmured, voice rich with concealed emotions and a thousand lies and a million secrets, tongue curling with each curved word. His voice was so strong that she could almost see the words. With that, his dark silhouette seemed to fill my own, closing me off from the magnificent ballroom and thrusting me into pitch black. I snapped my eyes open and started, head shooting up from the desk. I gasped a single, rugged breath and sighed in relief to realise that it was all a huge dream. Serenity washed over me, literally seeming to refresh my mind and spirit as I forced myself into a standing position. I stretched, sighing as I glanced leisurely to the clock. My heart sank as I calculated that I'd been asleep for five hours. I looked down at the desk as I went to take my bag, but frowned and stopped, ears starting to ring.

A single rose with a long, elegant stem lay directly beside the spot where my head had been resting; there was no way it could have been there before I fell asleep. The crimson of the rose conjured up the memory of the corsage that was on The Joker's suit in my dream; I had paid attention to the corsage because it had reminded me of the red I usually wore on my nails, or shoes, and even my blouses. _What the hell is going on today? _I wondered, curiosity mingled with fear setting in and making my stomach contract faintly. I picked up the delicate flower, raising it slowly to my nose to smell it, just out of curiosity and some strange obligation I felt in the more childlike quarter of my brain, as if I were a princess receiving a gift from one of my many handsome suitors. The sick, unnerved feeling intensified when, upon picking up the rose, I discovered a slick, folded note lay beneath it. I unfolded the note, and almost dropped it when I'd absorbed the words, certain they were then seared into my mind; a drunk tattoo behind my eyes. It simply read, "See? Dancing with the Devil can be fun. –J" Slinging my bag over my shoulder, note still in my clutches, I jogged out of the office and straight to the elevator, forcing myself not to look down to the end of the corridor, and into the dragon's lair, where the serpentine creature itself rested.

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**Please, please, ****_please _****review! I'd so love to get in contact with you all. Anything you'd like!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: One Of Us Is Going Down**

**Session #3 (Joker)**

"Would you be so kind as to explain to me how these managed to get in my office?" His doctor opened the session, firm hands clasping both the deep red rose and the note atop her lap. The objects she grasped sent him rocketing into his own past, remembering the texture of the petals, the colour contrasted amongst the dullness of the cell. The Joker smirked, lips spread wide over his teeth as a deep, sinister chuckle escaped his throat.

"Why, dear Harley, it's really rather simple..." He had decided that now was the perfect time to put his favourite nickname of hers to good use, enjoying how well it complimented him. He had grown into it already, it was just a matter of waiting until she agreed.

"I'm sure the guards would be interested to know that you've been out of your cell." She warned, sounding like a teacher with a disobedient child. He supressed the urge to roll his eyes, fists clenching as his mind poured violent thoughts into behind his eyelids, the sight of her dark blood streaming down her pure white top, tainting it with evil and perfection and staining her skin, saving her life by setting her free with violence, the bird trapped in a cage locked in by society, ready to escape through wickedness and insanity.

"Come off it, Harley. If you were really planning on spilling the beans, you would've done it by now. But you haven't, so your point is meaningless!" The Joker cried, laughter spilling out over every few words, uncontrollable giggles fit for a clown, and a king at that. _They don't call me the Prince for nothing, my sweet. _

"Regardless, Mr Joker, I don't want to see things like this appearing in my office again. It's highly inappropriate, if nothing else." She sighed, making some marks here and there on her quant little notebook page. It was obvious that she had nothing of substance to scrawl down, but she was making herself look busy for his sake. _Oh, how precious,_ his mind crooned, licking his lips at how delicious the session was turning out to be, and it had only been two minutes.

"You know, toots, you look less perfect than usual; a little tired, in fact. Sleep not doing you any favours?" He asked, slapping on fake sympathy to his childlike tone to try and coax more out of her. A delightful shift of the hardness on her face proved that she was as hard as putty; he watched with unadulterated exhilaration as she deteriorated from hard set features to a weaker, more natural form; her barriers were going to be easy to bring down, when the time came to set off the explosives he was already beginning to lay down. It was a matter of time, patience, and a careful choice of words. She sighed lightly, her fragile, petite form rattling as the dark circles began to become more prominent, the more The Joker stared.

"I had a weird dream about slow dancing in a really weird situation and I recently moved into a new apartment; it's all… taking its… toll." He began to vibrate with glee as she faltered, the realisation dawning on her face at her rookie mistake of explaining factors that made her weak. The way her forehead's creasing ceased to smooth, her eyes widening just a fraction, all indicated that she _knew_. One of the most important rules of psychiatry; never give away to your patients any signs of weakness. And she, without even needing a charming term of endearment or a bat of an eyelash, gave it up. She was weak-willed, pathetic- although The Joker sensed that usually she would be at least a tiny bit stronger, and that she was at a weaker mind-set. It was a sorry state for a doctor of The Joker. It was… embarrassing for him. As he contemplated this, he made care to mentally stash away the fact that slow dancing, in one way or another, had some effect on her. Just another weapon to add to his artillery against his precious doctor, another explosion to add to the mental barrier.

He glanced to the note again, and refreshed his mind as to why he decided to play with his doctor at all. The note, as he saw it, was the first stage of his plan. He wasn't big on schemes; he was more of a spontaneous, destroy-as-much-as-you-can-before-Batman-catches-you kind of guy. However, he was going to make an exception for his doc. _She'll become solely dependent on me. Through fear and charm, if I balance the two perfectly, I'll have her picking fluff-balls from under my toenails before I can say the alphabet backwards, _he patient knew that isolating her from the world, sheltering her from society, drumming only his ideas into her frail mind until everything was based on the worship of him was a classic example of Stockholm Syndrome, something that The Joker had heard of, had excited him, but he'd never experienced in any way before. In more ways than one, she would be his first. _I can't go down that road now; if I do, I'll get too excited to be patient, _he reminded himself, clenching his fists to contain his bubbling excitement. He looked away from the note and focused on his doctor again, who was frowning at her lap, tapping her pencil impatiently over the leather of her notebook. He cleared his throat, taking the centre of his own stage before speaking, as he always did. One of his mottos or ways of thinking was to live every moment as if he was on a reality TV show, as if there was an audience hanging off his every thought, movement, action.

"Oh, doc, you'll be fine. I used to have weird dreams when I was little, y'know." He began casually, and she perked her head up as he seemed to be willingly giving her information. _She's very naïve; has she really already forgotten that last time I fooled her into thinking I was Luke Skywalker?_

"Really, Mr Joker? Are you sure you're not just messing with me again? You're not going to launch into another fictional anecdote stolen directly from some corny science fiction movie?" She whipped, a glint of mischief in her pale blue eyes. The Joker found himself slightly taken aback, heart faltering just once to realise that his presumptions had betrayed him. His eyebrow slowly rose as he acknowledged that she was smarter than she sometimes gave the impression of. Before proceeding with his anecdote, his ever-whirring brain made a snap decision, something he did far too often. Confident that there was definitely potential nestled in that brain of hers, he decided to break another boundary, send one layer of the wall crashing down into the sea of oblivion, where he felt determined his doctor would end up.

"Say, Harley…" He drawled, carefully peeking at her from underneath his lashes to watch her reaction. The girl took the bait completely, not a single seed of doubt planted in The Joker's mind this time. He'd recovered from his brief stagger in stride, and was now picking up the pace, a panther whose gaze locked down on the innocent Antelope.

"Why do you keep calling me Harley lately? I'm positive that the standard doctor to patient relationship is meant to be on surname terms only." She questioned, her hands flopping softly onto her notebook, rustling the paper and causing him to lick his lips, trembling with excitement all of a sudden, the moment richer in reality than even his vivid imagination could concoct. He shifted slightly, leaning closer to her than usual. _Trap in place_, he thought, glee dripping from every word his conscience uttered. _Time to spring it._

"Why shouldn't I? I trust you and want to refer to a name I know you like. Is that so bad?" He asked, pouting his lips slightly and furrowing his eyebrows, hoping she was the sympathetic type. Of course, being a psychiatrist means she needed a stiff upper lip, but he held a small glimmer of hope that sympathy was one of her weaknesses. Fatigue could add to the strength of her reaction, he reckoned. It was a delicate balancing act, a tango of emotion versus environment. It made his fingertips tingle. The moment the words left his lips he knew he'd won the opening act- her spine falling back and relaxing into the chair from disbelief proving as much; and now it was time for the main show.

"Anywho, I want you to stop calling me Mr Joker. As… charming as it is, it just doesn't fit, you see! I like the Mr though… gives me a certain, sophistical edge, don't you think? But Joker just doesn't go… call me a perfectionist, but I need something else." He continued, feigning disinterest by staring at his gnarled, cracked fingernails. They held no interest to him, but it was all about keeping up appearances. Not only did he understand and appreciate that, but he loved it.

"What would you like me to call you, then? I… I quite like Mr J, I guess?" She added meekly, grimacing the moment she uttered the name, exquisite features contorting to express her distaste. His head shot up, a huge grin spreading over his lips as he nodded approvingly. _Beautiful, brilliant! She took the bait and said the exact words I needed! We are truly on the same wavelength. _

"Yes… Yes! Mr J is far better, don't you agree? You're my Harley Quinn, and I'm your Mr J. We sound like Arkham's dream power couple!" He pretended to gush, and she giggled quietly, reserving herself. He could tell that the struggle was greater than last time; he was impressed that only three sessions in he'd already made progress to breaking her. And he was _so_ hoping that she'd be more lasting. Laced amongst the laughter was fear; a genuine terror of his words, as if she feared they might come true. He basked in the revelation, glad she was afraid of herself, of the truth.

"Yes, well… You mentioned you used to have weird dreams? Do you fancy maybe telling me some more about them?" She changed the subject, nervously fiddling with the bun on her head and playing with one of her collars. He chuckled darkly; she wasn't hard to unnerve, either. The game they played was simultaneously tedious and exciting; one minute, The Joker was certain she'd be as easy to snap as a chopstick, and then at times she proved herself to be steely and sharp enough to dodge even the most deadly of bullets.

"When I was a kid, I remember my old man telling me something about rats being deadly; the plague and all that gobbledy-gook. For a year or so, I used to have _crazy_ dreams about them! They used to eat me, take me to their nests, use my torn open ribcage as homes and whatnot… it was all bizarre really. I should point out that I'm also cursed with the ability to talk in my sleep. So my brother would sleep in the same room as me and listen to me babble away like _mad _about 'em at night! So one day, when I'm busy showering myself of my sins and whatever else, my brother sneaks in and stuffs a dead rat into my towel. I finish my duties and grab my towel, pressing it to my wet, youthful, stark naked body, and feel something furry! Naturally, I grab the furry object, and when I realise that it's nothing other than a mangled dead rat, I scream and run out of the room and down the stairs, straight into my lounge room completely starkers, only to run right into my next door neighbours, round to pass on some incorrectly delivered mail! So there I was, stark _naked_ with a dead rat in my hand!" He burst into laughter, slapping himself with what little leeway his shackles allowed, roaring with pleasure as he felt his slip in control enough to entice even Harley into giggles that began to build and build. She pressed her hand to her face, laughing for real, a musical sound that reverberated off the walls and shone over him, giving him the opportunity to absorb it, store it away. The laugh was maniacal, out of control, as if her body treated it as a necessary function rather than a reaction. It was hysterical to watch, the glint in her eyes suggesting that she herself recognised that she was losing her grip and thus, as always she worried, her professionalism. She pulled herself to, the humour never losing presence in her bright blue eyes as she steadied her breathing, chest rising and sinking rhythmically, almost lulling him into a trance. His heart squeezed with undiluted glee as he watched her concentrate to pull herself back to her professional composure, and his mind began to drift as he imagined that look of concentration as she struggled to claw out of his iron grip, skeleton hands clamped around her neck as her circulation ebbed away into never-ending nothingness. _Patience; in time, it'd come._

She cleared her throat, finger white with strength as she furiously scribbled notes into her book, the sound of pencil on paper filling the air and swirling around them. He could almost see the words, the analytics, the observations as they swirled to the sound, spinning around his head. All lies.

"And tell me, M-Mr J, what did your parents think about the situation? How did your father react?" He supressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead softly sighing in a tone that he knew she would misconstrue as the burden of reliving tragic memories. He coughed to conceal a giggle at the thought; really, he was sighing because of how dense she sounded.

"You know, toots, you have a beautiful laugh. You ought to laugh more, I'm telling you. There's nothing a guy should like more than a doll that can laugh for a nation over the smallest of things." He said, cocking his head as he awaited her reaction. She widened her eyes, the expectance of him opening up to her clearly weighing heavy on her mind. For him to disappoint her like that, it would surely leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Well, in my defence, I used to laugh a lot more than I do now, but unfortunately, in a job like this you can't afford to have fun. It's the patient that's the priority. When I used to do gymnastics, before I switched careers, I laughed all the time over absolutely nothing." She admitted, a glint of something rare and wistful sparkling in her eyes. He shifted a little; if he could sit up in his seat he would have. _Now we're talking; gimme some of the good stuff._

"Now, why did you switch careers if you were doing so well? If you were enjoying it?" He pressed, leering at her as he felt the claws of hunger scratch at him, desperation biting at his insides, craving more than what they already had. In his eyes, they'd made so much progress. They had pet names for each other, he'd learnt lots from her, and furthermore, she still was in the dark over him- a few harmless childhood stories wouldn't suddenly light a match to his past. It was heavily unbalanced to her, but perfectly balanced to him.

"Sometimes, we need someone to bring us back to reality, Mr J. Reality, however boring and disappointing it may be, is the safer alternative. There may be a horde of evil and crime, but at least it can be dealt with. It trains you up, hardens you to it. In your fantasy world, you can just sit back and watch and know that you'll be no worse for it, but you'll never _live_. You'll become so soft and immune to life that boredom will drive you to want to leave in the end, anyway. Although reality is the opposite of freedom, it's ultimately better. What do you think about it?" She asked, a hint of a smirk ghosting over her lips. For a fleeting second, he felt startled by how smoothly she'd switched his diversion into something she'd gain. _That's my girl… Again, she's pushing her own boundaries, how cute. _He felt that she deserved a small reward, in the form of a definite topic to return to at another time, a bookmark, a footprint in the cement.

"I love reality; it has The Batman. And we _all_ need Batman." He twitched with amusement as she made a few more notes in her book, -presumably about Batman-, her eyes never leaving his, locked in a silent duel. She looked like she was assessing whether or not it would be a fight to the death. He hoped for it.

"How could you need The Batman? You are, by definition, mortal enemies. It's inconceivable to me that you could possibly need and want the man who so often spoils your plans and schemes." She invited. He stifled a chuckle, shaking his head and smirking all at once, knowing that the triple blow combined with his words would tire her out, allowing him to direct the conversation back to her and keep it there. After all, he fancied asking what music she enjoyed, as a quaint little conversation point, and for future reference, of course.

"With time, and patience, you and I will get there, Harley. Just not yet." He winked, and she fell back into her seat dejectedly. What the girl failed to realise, was that The Joker's words referred to more than just discussing Batman.

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**A/N: And this is the last time I will post a chapter out of the usual timetable I have going. From now on, chapters will be updated on a Tuesday and a Friday. Stay tuned! And thank you for reading. It felt strange at first, sharing this with other people; it's been my private thing, my little secret project for almost half a year. But I'm glad it's coming together. And I know it may seem boring at first with it just being dialog and sessions, but there is just one chapter left until things begin to pick up. REALLY pick up. As always, pretty please with Joker-toxin on top R&R! See you Friday.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Last plain and simple session; from the next chapter on, things start getting meatier and we start to see Harley change and develop. Thank you for the reviews, I really truly appreciate it! Feel free to keep 'em coming.**

**Also, sidenote: I will be skipping sessions; they're in chronological order, but if there's any relevant information you need to know from previous sessions, Harley will describe it. Just go with the flow. Perhaps as a sequel or spin off I'll write seperate one-shots of the sessions after this project's complete!**

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**Chapter 5: I'm Torn Up But I Can't Believe**

**Session #7 (Harley)**

Once again, I traced the nib of my pen over the words 'Session Seven', drawling them and watching the ink hypnotically darken over each letter. I fought the impulse to describe myself as depressed over the lack of progress between myself and my patient since Session 3, getting nowhere closer to solving anything with real substance. We'd spent the previous three sessions discussing simplicities such as movies we both enjoyed or didn't, or music we both liked or disliked, or our favourite food. It felt personal, as much as I wanted to deny it. And to my dismay, I began to cotton on just how dangerous the game we played was becoming. The Joker himself had told me that knowledge was power, and I realised just how deep in it I was getting. It seemed like every time I opened my mouth, he learnt paragraphs worth of information about me, where I gained next to nothing about him, just another blank page in my notebook, where he'd written reams and reams in leather-bound novels. Before my thoughts allowed me to spiral into the deep dark pit of fear where I knew some answers to unspoken, unregistered questions lay, a familiar knock on the door pulled me to my focuses. I called in invitation, beaming brightly at the guards who patrolled in, returning my smiles with stares and curled lips. As they entered, I raised my eyebrow to note that this time they didn't drag The Joker in; he came of his own accord, and quite happily so at that. He seemed to practically bounce, jittering along like a child. _That explains the angry expressions, then. _The guards strapped him as per usual, nodded to me and left, clanging the door shut with unnecessary force. It was likely that they weren't happy to not have to drag The Joker for once, their usual display of power abandoned. Judging by the smirk plastered on his face as he watched them leave, I guessed that The Joker knew it too.

"You look happier than usual today." I commented, opening my notebook and noting his pleasantly erratic behaviour down. He clucked his tongue at me, before shrugging dismissively, as if it were so obvious. A creeping sense of foreboding began to tickle the base of my spine when I noted that even his disapproval couldn't stay on his expression before returning to the childish enthusiasm.

"Just happy to be spending time with my favourite gal!" He exclaimed in as high a voice as he could manage, excitement visible even when strapped down. I felt heat rise to my cheeks, the naïve side to me revelling in the compliment, before a question of its appropriateness invaded my mind and hushed my vanity with vigorous demand. Perhaps to others it seemed odd, but to me, I felt honoured to be in the same room as those words being uttered, let alone be the _subject_ of them. As I struggled to think of something to build as a makeshift bridge between my desired topic and his comment, he interrupted, words tripping over giggles tripping over words.

"Oh, Harley, what did the cop say to his belly button? You're… hee-hee… You're… You're under a vest! Ha-ha!" He cried, giggles lacing every few words he managed to get through of his joke, before delivering the punch line with as much enthusiasm as he seemed capable of. I, to my own surprise, joined in with his maniacal laughter, slapping my knee as ridiculous, insignificant tears of humour pricked my eyes, a deeper laugh threatening to peek out from the back of my throat. As I continued to chortle and snort ungracefully, I began to feel the presence of only my own laughter, his humour's absence clear. I opened my eyes slowly, blood cooling until it was only just warmer than ice as I noticed that he had finished abruptly, instead watching me with calm, non-expressive eyes. _Such dark eyes_, I thought, a chill rolling down my spine and raising goose bumps to my skin. He was the master of trickery, concealed behind a mask that only he chose to remove. And right now, it had no intention of going anywhere.

"Why're you so interested in my laughing, Mr J?" I asked, far more at ease with the nickname than I previously had been. So at ease, in fact, I had grown to quite like it, and tended to use it when referring to him outside of our sessions. I couldn't assess why, but something about it made me feel like I had a connection to my patient. And I didn't know why, but that pleased me more than it should have. I conveniently left that out of my notes.

"I like laughter, it makes me feel important. I didn't hear laughter from my dad much when I was a kiddie… maybe that's why I rely on it so much now." He trailed off, brilliant green eyes glazing with wistfulness as he turned away, seeming to forget he wasn't alone in my office. I narrowed my eyes, memory of his joke during our first session as clear as day in my mind. However, as he continued, I recognised that there was something present in his voice now that was absent during the first session when he'd pretended to tell Luke Skywalker's story. I soon came to realise what was missing then was sincerity, true sincerity. It was the kind of sincerity that sounded like a lump to the throat, and the kind that resonated with me.

"Ya see Harley, my old man favoured the grape. He'd come home, staggering and swaying wildly like some of the very crack-cases you see wandering around the Asylum. Drunk as a fool, he always was, after my mom packed her bags and scarpered. I always blamed the drinking for when he used to… when he used to beat me. I'd step a foot out of line, he'd step a foot into my face!" He exclaimed, closing his eyes, like the memories had a physical effect on him. My heart constricted as I felt overwhelming sympathy, and suddenly my vision shifted. Not literally, but in my mind, metaphorically, I saw him differently.

For the first time ever, I saw The Joker as a human. My eyebrows furrowed, and I longed to get closer, maybe comfort him in some way; he seemed like the type who enjoyed contact and proximity in all forms. I was so convinced when I started out with The Joker that I was prepared for whatever he had to say, but I was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for his honesty. And the honesty hurt to hear.

"Tell me more." I murmured, wheeling forward to be as close to the barrier as possible. One eye opened, staring at me, a brief snap shot of emotion overwhelming me as I saw The Joker as no more than a man, perhaps trying to prove himself. 'Seeks approval?' I wrote on the page, emphasising the question mark and underlining it. The point needed further research when he was out of my head; although I knew that he was never out of my head these days. He was always lurking at the back of her mind, saying things, doing things, constant reminders of her duties. The Joker chuckled darkly and closed his eyes, before taking a deep breath. With a swipe of his tongue across his red raw lips, he began.

"There was only one time when I saw him truly happy, and that was when I was seven years old. He took me to a circus! I remember it as clear as day, my dear; all the clowns, running around, throwing pies! It was a riot. My old man laughed so hard, I was certain he'd suffer a stroke. I thought I could make him laugh if I was more like those clowns; I'd do anything to see him smile at me, and not follow up the laughter with a swift beating. So one day, he was out, and I put on his best Sunday pants, wearing them at my ankles! He arrived home and I toddled out to meet him. 'Hi Dad, look at me!' I laughed. He looked so surprised, that I had to stop to laugh. But as I stopped, one foot fell over the other, and whoosh! I fell flat on the ground and… and tore the crotch clean out of his pants!" He cried, opening his eyes as he laughed so hard that they glistened with tears of laughter. I laughed too, the thought of a young Joker flat on the floor on his face, large pants torn at his ankles being too much to contain. My lungs racked for air as I continued to bark with laughter, wiping a tear from my eye, when he concluded his anecdote on a darker note.

"Then he broke my nose." I gasped, tears of previous laughter frozen in my eyes, a screen sheening my eyes. It took all my self-restraint to blink them away, scrawling down notes on what my patient had confessed to me. _Suck it Peters, I knew I'd get somewhere._

"Oh Mr J, I am so sorry to hear that. I promise you, with every fibre of my being, that I will help you. You will recover, and you will get out of here. And you will never have to worry about your father ever again, I swear." I promised, a hand curling over the skin concealing my heart, power and motivation coursing through my veins and tinting my vision a fiery red.

"Thank you, Harley. I have faith in you!" He chirped earnestly, opening his eyes totally to link with mine, green clashing with blue, where the river meets the ocean, the grass meets the puddle. His lips spread over his teeth, an honest grin breaking the tension that had clouded over his confessions, a dark mass fogging the air between them.

The light caught the deathly paleness of his face contrasted against the rich unnatural green of his hair and the stain his lips held. _Is his entire body that pallor? _I began to wonder, tilting my head inadvertently as I found myself again staring, still in disbelief that I'd been given such an interesting patient. _Dangerous_, I reminded myself, _but never boring. _I considered whether he did actually have scars that ripped across his cheeks that he chose to cover with lipstick, or if it was literally just makeup in a huge, exaggerated, jagged grin that gave off the impression of scars in certain light. _I bet his lips are soft_, I decided, narrowing my eyes. My cheeks flushed a delicate pink, suddenly embarrassed by my unruly and sudden spout of sensual curiosity. I had never done that before; only _he_ managed to unravel all these new experiences, thoughts, feelings. As I tried to dispel them from my mind, it sparked a new line of questioning, and I felt like my brain literally clicked as it locked into place, firm roots in my mind. I'd need to pursue it.

"Tell me, Mr J, do you have a sexuality that you identify as?" I asked, ears feeling as hot as my cheeks as I realised how intrusive the question was once it had left my lips and clouded the air a delicate pink. He stared at me in silence for a while, face betraying no emotion, before chuckling throatily and closing his eyes slowly, as if the moment were precious and he intended to savour it.

"Why if I didn't know any better doc, I'd say you were coming onto me!" He exclaimed, laughing harder now as he shook his head. I suppressed a sigh, cheeks aflame with indignation. He knew the question would be brought up to some extent eventually; there was no need to add to my embarrassment.

"Please, that would be highly immoral, unruly _and_ inappropriate. You knew all along that these types of questions would be asked at some point; it's a fundamental line of questioning. No need to flap about and cause more of a fuss, is there?" I said sternly, cooling down as my rant concluded itself. He raised his eyebrows, surprised that I reacted with such hostility to what was meant only to be a playful jibe. He sniggered before sighing, eyes rolling in their hollow sockets.

"I'm not really the type of guy that plays for one team, if you'll understand. I'm not affected or swayed by either gender; I go with the general flow of things… I'm too busy chasing Bats to focus on sex. If you pinned me down… tee-hee… and asked me about gender preference, I'd say that everyone has their advantages and disadvantages and leave it at that." He explained, the grin on his face slowly becoming more malicious with each word. I shifted in my seat, suddenly slightly uncomfortable; I felt exposed and ripped raw, like a violation was imminent.

"Care to elaborate on some of those?" I asked, trying to drift away from the subject; I figured that sex somehow didn't play a big role in his incarceration, or life. That realisation evoked an unspoken feeling in the pit of my brain where I never dwelled; fear of the unknown had my conscience running away, focusing far too hard on whatever The Joker had to say, hoping to escape the emotion.

"Oh, I know you too well now, Harley. I'm sure you have already discovered and figured out the advantages and disadvantages for yourself." He sneered, turning his head to the side with indifference but maintaining eye contact. His words bit at me, and I recoiled slightly, desperate to hide just how hurt I was by the statement. I didn't want to admit to myself how surprised I was that he'd affected me in the first place; after all, we weren't close enough. I was usually quite steely to targeting and hurtful comments; being a young woman I'd heard a fair variety of phrases from passing strangers on the street; I was used to them, immune to their poison. So why did it hurt coming from him? As I contemplated this, the silence dragged on and on, emotion thickening the air and leaving it viable to being sliced open, revealed like a beating heart. I was at a loss of what to say, but as always, The Joker seemed ready to steer the conversation.

"I'm so sorry, Harley. I forget sometimes that I can be so unintentionally cruel. I am sorry... I meant none of it." The Joker said, turning his head back and straining against the shackles, as if he wanted to get closer and embrace me. My expression softened, and I found myself to be far too forgiving for my own good. _Stop being so weak! _My inner castigation promised to never show such weak-willingness again; ultimately, I knew it'd fail, but if it got me to sleep easier at night, I was all for the pretence.

"It's a-okay, Mr J. I accept your apology and thank you for it. I won't bring up your sexuality if it's something you're uncomfortable discussing. I sense the answers I want don't lie in your sex life anyway." I explained, and he grinned, the sincere expression dropping away into nothing immediately.

"Glad to hear it, doc. Wouldn't want to insult my favourite gal." He winked. His sudden charm and cheekiness made my lips twitch, and I found that I just couldn't supress a grin, not wanting to appear ungrateful for his attention. It was just one smile at his expense; what harm could be done?

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**A/N: Okay, that's it until Tuesday! See you then, folks! I ****_loooooove_**** reviews, by the way... ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, so from hereon in it picks up now. Say goodbye to the calm; the storm's arrived! Keep on getting in contact and letting me know what you think. Every review, favourite, follow means the world to me. **

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**Chapter 6: No One Will Ever Change This Animal I Have Become**

**(Joker)**

"Stupid broad," He cackled to himself, shaking his head as he clawed his nails idly along the stone of the walls of his cell, the sound grating his ears. He'd recently taken to doodling smiles into the walls, a fair reflection of his moods recently. Things were going well with Harley, and she really wasn't as bright as he first thought. Sure, at times she came up with extremely bright suggestions, and occasionally had a spark of pure brilliance that even The Joker could admit to, but on a whole, Harleen Quinzel wasn't the brightest of flares.

They'd been playing their little game of chess for 11 hours in total now, and things were becoming tedious for him. It was time to kick things up a notch and initiate the Checkmate moves, setting the ploys in place. He chuckled as he remembered how sensitive the poor little dove was. How he'd merely suggested that she was a promiscuous individual, and she looked as hurt as a child who'd found their puppy dead on the ground on Christmas day. The thought made him tremble with glee, as he thought of what other presents there was to unwrap in her delicate mind.

He'd pretended that the insult he'd spat at her was accidental, ensuring to convey how deeply "sorry" he was. The only sorry he actually felt was that he hadn't hurt her more, and more physically at that. The motives behind it was simple; he wanted to see where the boundaries over principal topics lay with her, so he knew how to push them in the future, knew how to make her twist and bend and break under his fingers. Every puppeteer needs to get to grip with the strings first. But as he kept repeating in his mind, he was getting bored of their repetitive game, and it was time to step up. For this round, he knew he needed to develop and bend her opinion of the world more in order to help her see and understand the isolation he felt, and he had the perfect weaponry to do so.

"Alright, clown. It's time." A gruff voice echoed through the cell, the rough sound of keys grating against lock making The Joker giggle automatically. Derek and Tom entered, and before they could drag him by his arms, he stepped back, clucking in disapproval as he did so.

"Tut tut boys, you ought to know better than to damage precious goods. I think my doctor needs me in good shape!" He cried, brushing himself down with importance

"You're going to come on your own or will I have to drag you out?" Derek growled, stepping closer. The Joker instead laughed, stepping forward and indicating that he'd come easy. They pushed him every few steps in front, his shoulders clicking painfully each time; he didn't mind- he was too full of anticipation for the session.

"Be good, you bastard, or your doctor will be standing over your dead body. Got it?" Derek hissed in his ear as he knocked on the door, pressing The Joker almost right into it purposely. The Joker rolled his eyes, laughter dying down as he heard the familiar chime of his doctor's voice sound through the door. He was brought in unceremoniously and strapped down, the harsh snap of metal against his skin making his eyes water. He focused when he saw her face, her delicate and petite features. _So innocent_, he marvelled. _The sooner I end this, the better._

**Session #12**

"How are we today, Mr J?" She asked, wheeling her chair all the way to the barrier. There was no hesitation anymore; she liked it just as much as he did.

"Just great, doc." The Joker knew that patience was never his strong suit, a King on his deck of cards. Thus, he decided to allow forty-five minutes for Harley to babble and ask him questions, before putting his work to good use. So the wait commenced.

At last, forty-five minutes had passed and he sensed an opening in the conversation as she recovered from another bout of laughter at a useless anecdote about a hiking accident. Clearing his throat, as he revised what he'd been formulating in his cell for almost an entire day, he began.

"Have you ever had a_ really_ bad day?" He began, making sure his eyes held hers to give her the full effect of what he was saying. The question clearly took her aback, her eyebrows furrowing as her clear blue eyes pierced his own. She blinked slowly, clearly trying to assess whether or not he was trying to trick her, or if there was a definite point to his words.

"Y-yes… What would you define as a bad day?" He fought down the flush of irritation he felt at her constant psychoanalysis of everything he said, but he decided that for sentimental, old times' sake, he'd roll with it. For old times' sake.

"Well, I could list some examples… like your pregnant wife dying in a car accident, or perhaps losing a $100 bill or watching your best friend get beaten to death with a crow bar without being able to stop it, or maybe even being beaten to near death with a crowbar yourself." He listed, watching intently as the shocked glint to her eyes dissolved into calm determination. _Is she trying to piece together if any of those happened to me? _He wondered, an alien but fond feeling warming in his chest as he reconsidered his earlier decisions of his doctor being not so bright. He chuckled, splaying his fingers in reassurance.

"Rest assured, if any of that did happen to me, it's not something I remember. Don't mistake me here doll, recollection of past events isn't some blissful thing so many people make it out to be. There's nothing so cruel as memory. They're unwelcome party crashers, only out to destroy us, finish us off. Inescapable, unrelenting…madness isn't even a way to escape!" He paused for dramatic effect, allowing his words to seep into her mind and swirl around before continuing. The look on her face was worth the pause; her mouth was slightly agape, plump lips parted, eyes wide like a child at a magic show. He'd rarely taken notice, but her eyes were a rather magnetic shade of blue. Not dark enough to be deep like the sea, but not light enough to be a shallow crystalline, or a swimming pool. Another example of how she hung in the balance. Harley's existence could be summed up with scales, he was sure of it.

"But then you meet someone who changes everything you've ever known. In fact, your life changes so completely that you don't even know who you are anymore. Isn't it… quaint how one small encounter can deform everything you know, pull apart your memories and your very identity until you're reborn in your mind… restructured completely! I find it rather exciting, actually." Her eyes lit with something like understanding, and a sharp gasp for breath confirmed his observation.

"That sounds like fate to me, Mr J. Would you call it fate?" She asked, scribbling madly on the page, desperation to impress anyone who would listen clear on the pages. So clear even he could tell from where he was.

"I used to think of fate as evil, actually, when I was but a mere _slither_ of a man. The rules of human nature dictated our very existences; made us slaves to it. But, I can safely say that recently, that's all changed." He leered at her as he noticed how utterly engrossed she was in what he was saying. Instead of telling a tale of sorts, giving a performance, he decided to actually talk to her; he wanted to see what reactions he could elicit. Besides, she was quite the entertainment for him.

"Have you ever had the feeling that your entire life, your very existence, has been building to this one moment, and this one moment alone?" She nodded uncertainly, pen faltering on the paper as she considered his words.

"You see, now I realise that all those bad days, the violence, the wars and battles… they were all the hand of fate."

"So… do you see fate differently now, as opposed to how you used to?" She asked, and he could almost hear the precious quaint cogs grind in her brain as she worked over his words, turning them over and considering them carefully.

"Certainly; now I know that there are no chance encounters. All of it is meant to be. It all led up to the person I met whom gave me the blessing to see fate for what it _really_ is." She narrowed her eyes, before licking her lips anxiously and pursuing a new line of questioning. He could tell how eager she was for him to answer the question, although why, he had no idea.

"So you met someone pretty special then, huh?" He cocked his head to the side slightly as he noticed the slight incline in her voice, the delicate pink shade that stained her usually pale cheeks, and struggled with the urge to believe that he could recognise hope in her bright eyes, and then embarrassment flushing her cheeks darker for holding such hope. He smiled as much as he could without giving away just how pleased he was at how quick she was at adapting, and how far they'd come. Progress had so far been uneventful, but by the heavens would it pick up now. Disbelief still took precedence in his mind; could she really hope that I am talking about her?

"Yes… I met someone very special. And it has changed everything… Do you realise what a vile and corrupt world we live in? It's so alone. It is even more lonesome to wade through the wretch and filth in solitude." He begins to shake with glee as he saw something… _new_ glint in her blue eyes, form and deform at the same time, and he recognised the same glint in her eyes that he had when he first saw the world for what it really was, all those years ago. The glint he held when he finally saw the corruption and deceit hidden in the dark alleyways of Gotham. She was beginning to blossom, slowly of course, but there were definite signs of concurrence within her crystalline orbs. _The revolution starts here…_

"It is kind of lonely, isn't it?" She admitted timidly, and he, and as wide as he could, delighted to hear her words. _Good girl,_ he silently praised.

"Of course, you understand! You know that you can kick and yell and claw and scream until your lungs collapse and still, no one would care or listen. It's like…"

"I don't exist." She murmured, blinking slowly and setting down her pen, chewing her lip anxiously.

_You don't exist,_ The Joker completed his sentence at the same time as she finished it for him, deducing that she was going to interrupt him in the first place. He couldn't contain the surprise he felt when her interruption proved to be exactly a reflection of his thoughts. Surprise, with a hint of pleasure, of course. They were completely on the same wavelength, and that thrilled him. He nodded to confirm that he agreed with her, before he glanced to the clock. The biting, clawing ache of disappointment gripped him for the first time, and he found another wave of surprise rolled over him as he felt _disappointed_ to not tell her more. She was growing, changing, moulding to what he wanted so quickly! There wasn't long now. Exactly on time, Derek and Tom stormed in, nodding gruffly to Harley before unshackling him and yanking him to his feet. He whooped and laughed, before winking provocatively at his doctor. _His_ doctor.

"Until next time, Doc." He cheered, to which she nodded faintly, eyes still glinting with realisation and something else, something that delighted him beyond any realisation that had come before. He'd seen that look somewhere before; swirled amongst the fog that was his own insanity's beginnings, he remembered seeing the same expression, the same hysterical faint glimmer. It was only a flicker of what would one day be an inferno; it was his own insanity, buried deep in the sea that was her eyes. Realisation smacked him around the face, stinging and biting at his skin as he finally placed that she was just as crazy as him, but she was _very_ good at acting, a pretence so good that she'd even been lying to herself. As the door clanged painfully loudly shut behind him, he walked in silence, thinking over the session.

_She's more perceptive than I originally thought,_ he admitted, peering at the other patients in their cells as he passed them by, making sure that his tongue featured heavy appearances as he stuck them at everyone, including the serene but foul-tempered Crane. _Maybe I could do more than just play and break my toy_, he began to wonder, a new seed of ideology taking rest in his mind, the first signs of growth already present in mere seconds. _I saw it in her eyes, I was a fool to not have seen it sooner… She has something of me in there. If I claw back enough layers, she has potential to do more than just end up broken. Half of my boys don't have what she has; there's something very important that she is that they aren't- she's crazy. She's just in denial, is all. _

He giggled in gasping glee as he realised with a crashing sensation that he could mould her, shape her into something incredibly dangerous and powerful; before, he'd only planned on bringing out the Harley Quinn in her and abandoning her, but now? Now, he liked the idea of having her join him for more; she could prove to be useful with the powers he'd unleash. He relished in the thought of bending and twisting her fragile mind to perform unspeakable crimes that only the truly wicked could ever stomach. The plans and schemes swirled around in his brain as he was forcefully shoved into his cell, quickly stumbling nimbly over to the bed and slumping on it. He began to put together the shards of ideas on how to form his Harley Quinn into whatever he wanted, and show her how to _really_ live.

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**See you on Friday! And, as always, please do not hesitate to let me know what you think.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: I Just Want To Know You**

I couldn't even keep the skip from my step as I clocked into my office again after collecting a fresh mug of coffee, aware that I had only a short while until my next session. Despite having had a disappointingly boring thirteenth session where The Joker had been more tighter-lipped than he'd ever been before, I was positive that the natural boundaries between us were slipping and beginning to crumble, and we were both eventually going to end up on the same ground. I hoped that the ground we met on would be good, solid ground, and on my level, or else he'd be dragging me down to his. And given what took place during the twelfth session, I didn't entirely feel convinced that that _wasn't_ a possibility. Following all that he had revealed to me about his mentality on the world, I had tried my hardest to dispel and demolish the nagging, tempting ideas that were blossoming in my mind.

I was happy because he was being so open with me of course, but something kept me unsettled. Something was slewing and stirring in my brain, dwelling in the dark recesses where I hid from. It felt like it was getting larger as it demanded more of my attention, and I knew that eventually I'd fail to hide from it any longer. It nagged and stewed in my mind that I had agreed wholeheartedly with what my patient had said. I had ignored the nagging feeling once before, during our first session, when he'd told me that the world was one big joke. I'd never admit it, but I had found myself in agreement with his perspective, seeing only twisted truth in his words. I tried my best to shrug off the unnerved feeling beginning to grow inside me again, instead focusing on the pit of my stomach that rumbled with anxious, excited butterflies, recounting what had taken place before I'd come in for work; I had received a very important call at the unceremonious hour of 3am, courtesy of Joan. As I settled myself

"Joan, I love you and all, but I think we need to set boundaries as to what hours are acceptable for booty calls." I had grumbled, rubbing my tired eyes as I glared at the clock, daring it to provoke me further. I heard Joan laugh over the line, before slurping what I presumed was coffee. _What is with her and coffee at the moment? Either she's one huge coffee hypocrite, or she's under pressure at the moment, _I wondered, impatiently scratching at the sheets with a nail as I waited for her to respond.

"Not a booty call, Harleen, but something else entirely... I've received news from Dr Arkham and Peters that there will be enhancements to your sessions with The Joker." She explained, and immediately I sat up straight, all intentions of sleeping through the conversation evaporating into the dense night air, instead mounting tension like building blocks.

"Okay, that's slightly better than a booty call, I'm hoping… What's going on?" I pressed, anxious.

"Peters informed me that due to The Joker's alarmingly pristine record of his latest incarceration, and you latest reports of his consummate behaviour from the get go, The Joker will be given relaxed measures during your meetings from hereon in until either his release and curing, or he screws up." She elaborated, causing me to almost fall off of my bed in shock. I had a rough idea of what Joan was implying, but I was afraid to come to the wrong conclusion and embarrass myself, not wanting to ruin such a good moment with such a horrid emotion that clings to the skin.

"My money's on him screwing up first." Joan added as an afterthought, the smirk and bitter taste of late-night shifts evident in her voice.

"What does 'relaxed measures' entail, exactly?" I asked cautiously, stomach flopping in anticipation and excitement over what I had deep down already estimated.

"I still think it's too early, but Dr Arkham has already passed it and the guards have been informed too. The barrier that previously separated you and The Joker is no longer going to be used. You are allowed to go right up to the patient as part of the campaign to build a more positive relationship between you and him, and hopefully squeeze some more out of it; for you, either physically or mentally. This doesn't mean physical contact necessarily, but this certainly means proximity." Joan said, her voice more reserved than before. _This is certainly an improvement_, I had thought. _I'm sure Mr J will appreciate it._

"That's wonderful news, Joan! Oh, this is definitely going to make things progress faster. I'm so happy!" I exclaimed, kneeling on the bed and rocking in excitement. Any hopes of professionalism were dismissed; at 3am, Joan was lucky that it was extreme excitement and not something else entirely. Joan had left quickly after that, hanging up and leaving me to prepare myself to utilise the new measurements. I had tried to get back to sleep, but for a measly five hours of disturbed, anxious sleep, it wasn't worth it. Too much time to think meant more dwelling over The Joker's words, more of a chance to see the world from his shaded perspective.

**(Session #14)**

-As usual, a sharp, pronounced knock on the door roused me from my recount of that night's events, and I squeaked permission to enter. My heart constricted as I watched my patient skip in, smirking at me immediately. _He knew_.

"Afternoon, boys. I take it Dr Arkham told you about the relaxing of certain measures?" I said, regaining a hint of my confidence and strengthening my voice using it, forcing the shaking to still. They nodded and grunted gruffly, masculinity overriding any practice of kindness that could have been implemented to the situation. Derek faltered by the barrier, narrowing his eyes at the Joker.

"Remember, doctor, there is a panic button. We urge you to use it if you feel in danger. Got it?" I nodded and waved them off, and the door clanged shut with its usual unnecessary intensity. I didn't flinch anymore; at this point, menial things like slamming doors barely penetrated my attention. It was all consumed by my unusually quiet patient.

"If it's alright with you, Mr J, I'd like to talk about Batman today." I began, opening my notebook and underling 'Batman' for emphasis. The Joker chuckled darkly, his eyes swivelling to meet my own. I jotted down his reaction. 'Stark improvement from last session- dark humour seen'. In the previous session when I had tried to talk about Batman, he had gritted his teeth, turned away from me and spent an entire forty five minutes in complete silence, wasting an entire valuable session, and plodding sulkily from the room, allowing the guards to push and pull him without even a grin of antagonism.

After a moment of careful consideration, I decided to go ahead and do the one thing that every sense and nerve inside me screamed against. I grabbed the base of my chair and wheeled myself forward until I was right beside his chair. I was right next to him. My heart began to race, thrumming in my chest with such energy I was sure I'd throw up. When he twitched with humour, instinct reeled me back a few centimetres, safely out of his reach. The Joker's face dissolved into an expression that displayed slight hurt, and I felt a twinge of guilt somewhere in my heart. Instantly, I felt and knew that I was wrong to place such little trust in him.

"Why the hesitation, doll face? Please, be afraid of me- I'm as… harmless as a butterfly sat atop a marshmallow singing Latin opera." He drawled; although the tone was joking, even I wasn't foolish enough to miss the soft flesh of what he was saying. He was asking me to be close to him. That fact surged my nerves and frazzled them, and I couldn't deny that it felt… _good_. A man who enjoyed, relished and abused so much power, who never stopped for anyone besides his mortal enemy, wanted me to be next to him, _asked_ me to be close to him. I slowly wheeled forward again, chest puffed with fright and deliberate caution. I cocked my head to the side a little, for the first time noticing that his deep emerald eyes had soft flecks of hazel in them as well as lighter shades of green, making them stand out even more.

"What's up doc? Cat gotcha tongue?" He perked up, splintering the silence that had blanketed the room. I could almost hear its glass shatter. I sat up straighter, trying to maintain what little poise and dignity I knew I had left. I adjusted the notebook on my lap, shivering as cool leather met the thin, warm material of my skirt. I clicked the pen, hoping he'd see that it was all professional and respond to it.

"So, Batman." I began, pressing pen to paper. The Joker groaned, rolling his eyes before meeting them to mine again, emerald crashing with the sea. I heard the waves in my mind, lolling me into an almost trancelike state. I squirmed under his burning gaze, the mere thought of what those eyes had been a witness to making me feel sick but also… thrilled. A deep, twisted part of me felt positively curious to see it all for myself. I put it down to psychiatrist's curiosity, but I wondered if myself and The Joker were really so dissimilar.

"Batman is self-righteous, Harley. He pretends he's on the side of morality but on a different level with the whole not-killing-just-injuring thing with criminals. Really, he and I are barely different. We're two sides of the same coin- the separating line's scrubbed out and erased by murder and corruption on the streets. We're reflections, Harl- reflections that consciously choose different presentations." He explained. My heart fluttered with something mysterious when he shortened my name to 'Harl'- how quickly they had progressed from "Doc" to an intimate nickname frightened me… except it didn't. Not really. If anything, it had me excited.

"Okay, this might sound crazy-"

"And you think I'd have an issue with crazy?!" He whooped, almost squirming with delight.

"-This might sound crazy, but would you say your relationship with Batman is in any way romantic or fuelled by romantic or sexual feelings?" I asked, cringing internally as the question felt even more ridiculous when it left my lips. J snorted, so loud that I knew how mockingly he treated it, but I struggled to fight down a peculiar sense of shock and betrayal that he then didn't answer, leaving it to my own judgement.

"You're the psychiatrist, why don't _you _give me a diagnosis of mine and the Big Bad Bat's relationship?" He asked, giggles penetrating his attempt at a serious tone. I sighed, putting down the pen and briefly considering it before beginning.

"I think you want his approval, J. You said it yourself a few sessions ago- one of your greatest, most proud moments was when you told Batman a joke, and he genuinely laughed as a response to it. Do you think you want approval?"

"I used to want my dad to approve of me, actually. But now I accept that it doesn't matter. What's one silly emotion in the grand scale of things? Life's still a joke, whether someone approves your joke or not." He admitted with a grin. However, I saw just a hint of sadness in his burning eyes, and it was like his stare ignited my coal and fuelled me on.

"I-" Before I could continue, the guards shoved open the door and stalked straight over to J. I wheeled myself back to get out of the way, only just realising that it had been an hour, feeling an echo of disappointment and over-eagerness for the next session. _One day to go. _They yanked him free of his shackles and pulled him to his feet like he was a ragdoll. He winked goodbye to me and in an instant they were gone, absent from my office and temporarily from my life. The abruptness of the situation always left me feeling robbed, and the feeling that the guards kept stealing something that was mine made me aware how possessive I was becoming over my patient; one of the first things I had learnt as a psychiatrist was that there was always a fine line to be crossed with possessive tendencies, and all it took was one push over the edge, down the rabbit hole. I shrugged off the feeling, instead doing my usual review and catch up on my notes of the session. Now certain I was alone, I allowed myself to talk out loud; there were too many voices and opinions to keep inside my head, even if it meant feeling a little crazy for talking to myself. _You're in the right place for it, Harl._ I sighed as I read out my own notes.

"I… I think J wants the world to see life as he sees it; he clearly envisions a world where everyone laughs, and he wants to enforce that. I think he wants the approval he missed from his childhood, but Batman comes along and ruins all of his plans every time. Perhaps if he could gain approval, he'd be less dangerous about earning it." I said, pausing for breath and a chance for my hand to catch up with its labour. I felt the seed, the seed that had been haunting the dark, unreachable corners of my mind begin to blossom and grow, and for once the notion it provided sat comfortably in my brain, to my utter surprise and worry. I pushed the thoughts aside, solely focusing on my patient for my own good.

"Maybe The Joker is more than just a heartless, vindictive villain. Maybe he isn't that at all. I think… I see it as him being no more than a troubled soul, crying out for love. Crying out for someone to understand and accept him." I snapped my book shut, scared that my notes were becoming opinions, and even more scared of the fact that my opinions sympathised with him more than anything else. I had never been fond of the legal system, or cops, or even Batman for that matter, but since I'd started sessions with Mr J, I felt even less compassion for The Dark Knight in particular. That was a turn out for the books.

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**See you on Tuesday! Don't forget to please please ****_please _****read and review, just so I can get a general consensus as to how the story's going.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far! I really appreciate your kind words. By the way, have you all seen the premiere trailer for the final Arkham game, Arkham: Knight?! I screamed! Harley's outfit looks really kickass, and the way they've animated her is beautiful. That's truly the Harley I know and love. Let me know what you thought! Copy & Paste this into your browser if you want to watch the trailer for yourself: **_ watch?v=vZIxdgActeA _

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**Chapter Eight: I Don't Know Who You Are**

_Bored_. The Joker scratched absent-mindedly at the plaster of his cell, waiting for his session to begin, adrenaline coursing around his brain, memories and thoughts all compressing at the edges of his brain, pulsating and radiating pure mischief. _Only a few minutes._ He could admit that progression was slow, but simultaneously, he was pleased that the progression that was being made was vast. For the past few sessions, Harley had been taking the passenger seat, complacent to sit and listen to what he said rather than ask questions and try to determine what was "wrong" with him. He'd even begun asking _her_ the personal, intrusive questions – even to a fool it would seem that she was considering what he said, instead of challenging it or using it to analyse his psychosis. His twisted mind relished it; she had shown so much potential, and he figured it was about time she was rewarded for it. From the way her eyes would glaze over with each new nugget of information he fed her, the way she would shift eagerly to be closer, the way she could barely contain her excitement when he entered the room, despite the fact it was clear there were other things on her mind, it was obvious that he had nestled himself deep in her mind, and it was getting to her. That was more than enough to make him squirm in delight.

**Session #16 (Joker)**

"Come in!" He heard the warm chirp of his doctor and began to widen his grin, as Derek and Tom pushed the door open in unison. The Joker narrowed his eyes and transformed his surroundings with his mid, brain twisting like a kaleidoscope. He pretended that he was a king and the guards were his servants, pushing the door open with grace and admiration, and bowing their heads as their majesty strode past them, back straight with importance. The gruff order for him to "Start moving or I'll give you some bruises to remember" brought him spiralling back into reality, and his grin lessened but, of course, never faded, but instead set on his features.

He placed his eyes on Harley, immediately noticing with undulated glee that her red shirt was buttoned down two buttons, showing off more of her cleavage than usual. _Another mistake… or is it? _He pointedly stared to the area of his interest and then to the guards in order to embarrass her, and she immediately flustered to button them up, causing him to choke back giggles, reassured of the fact that he was very much beneath her skin.

He wondered honestly if it was an accidental mistake or if she was trying to be provocative for whatever reasons she might have. He couldn't decide, but didn't have time to- after being roughly and painfully strapped in and the usual procedures took place, the guards left and she steadied her notebook, but didn't wheel herself forward like usual. Frowning, he reckoned she was just preparing herself. Shrugging off the impending feeling that something was afoot, he set the wheels of the session in motion.

Since he'd been taking the helm of recent, he felt it only decent to let her have a turn, so he remained quiet for her to speak. When she realised, she flustered yet again and blinked to focus herself. _She's distracted today_, he noticed. The Joker didn't like that she had other things on her mind; she was_ his_, and she should be devoting every minute of her existence to his own.

"Distracted, are we?" He asked, allowing only the merest threat of a growl into his tone, hoping to rouse her into some fit state of discussion. She shook her head quickly, clearing her throat and tapping her varnished nails on rich leather, drawing her bottom lip inwards with her teeth. At last, she brought her chair to his, allowing herself to be as close as possible to him. All she had to do was stretch her arms a small way and she'd touch him. He wondered how she felt about that; repulsed? Curious? _Excited_?

"Okay J, let's try word association." She began, a sigh on the brink of her lips, ready to slip at any given moment. _She's adopted the nickname further to 'J' now. I prefer Mr J, but it's a good sign anyway. It means she's doing it out of genuine trust now… perfect. Sense is knocking itself in at long last!_

"Sure, let's take a swing at it." He shrugged, lips spreading and cracking to accommodate the ebullience he felt welling in his throat.

"Romance." She said, and he furrowed his eyebrows. From any stance at all, he hadn't expected _that_. He was prepared for something along the tangent of violence or insanity, given they were his most associative terms. Confusion glazed his eyes and made him deliberate, before he countered.

"Pain."

"Victory." She offered, the tiniest flare of something in her eyes that was gone within a flash. The Joker inwardly chastised himself for not recognising it before it evaporated amongst the sea of her eyes.

"Joy."

"Fun."

"Regret."

"Night." She murmured, still sounding distant, like she was only at best half there. Aggravation was beginning to slide in and tear apart his exuberance, leaving a bitter taste of rusty blood in his mouth. _This just won't do,_ he resolved with a hefty sigh. As if the session was the car and his mind had a grip on the wheel, he steered the conversation, engineering it to flow along the path he wanted.

"Desire," he hesitated to finally say. He was glad he could finally link desire to something, and even more glad that she was so easy to manipulate.

"Love-" _Oh Harley, you are so easy to predict._ He sighed- normally she was at least a small challenge to him, two sides of a coin that was constantly flipping. Now, she was on the ground whilst he beat her mercilessly, and she didn't even seem fazed, beyond caring, the horse's corpse being flogged.

"Don't you see love and desire as the same thing?" He interrupted with a light growl to his voice, agitation biting at him, clawing up his throat. She widened her eyes and sat straighter, and immediately The Joker watched his Harley return, like a balloon inflating, rising to the sky.

"Love is a long term commitment. It's devotion, and there's more emotion involved. Desire has less emotion involved _directly_ but causes more indirectly, including hurt. It's also a shorter emotion. It burns bright but for only a while." She explained. _She's back to me_, The Joker sighed in relief. _Time to play with my toy._

"What about desire within a relationship?" He pressed, exhilarated that she looked so engrossed in answering his questions. To the untrained eye, one would've thought their roles were switched, and that she was the psycho seeking counselling. _There's time; she may well turn out to be just that_. However, his drifting mind snapped back like a rubber band to a wrist, painful stings washing over him in sharp bursts. She didn't even seem bothered that he had again spun it around to talk about her; beforehand, she had at least made some attempt to put up a fight and spin the conversation around, and failed miserably, making it blissfully easy to pick apart her mind and influence the fragments.

However, something stopped him in his tracks as he began to properly consider her actions, rather than simply respond to them with barely contained agitation. Harley was less animated, and quieter; maybe it came across to others as pensive, but he knew better than that. Someone besides him had damaged his toy, and that made him fume with anger. He didn't like sharing.

"Hey doc, here's a joke for ya. I went to the zoo. There was only one dog in it. It was a Shitzu." He announced, laughing so hard at his own joke that he spluttered, eyes screwed shut for a few moments. She laughed her usual hearty laugh, but only a fool wouldn't notice that the smile didn't reach her eyes. And The Joker was no fool. Her eyes were a little darker than usual, and emptier, like the former glint of enthusiasm she had had was gone. He groaned internally; _am I really going to have to fake concern for her? Useless broad, practically choking out of me some form of compassion. I'll make her pay for that._

"Are you okay, doc?" She smiled brighter and insisted that she was, but he rolled his eyes, impatience biting at him like a rabid dog.

"Harl, don't lie to me, it really does little for my self-esteem. What's wrong?" The mask that she wore so poorly on her face crumpled, leaving bare, raw emotion in its place. It took The Joker almost by surprise that she could go from empty to completely broken, eyes full to their brims with glassy tears, lip trembling and eyebrows furrowed, crumpling her delicate forehead lines.

"It's been six months since my dad died. I never really tried to dwell on it, and I guess it's getting at me; I'm tired and under a lot of pressure and I never faced it and let me process it. I need to cry or just let it out or something." She shrugged. He suppressed the glee as best he could, stifling it under layers of feigned concern, lathered on like a rich paste, hoping she'd see how much he "cared" about her, and rely on him just that little bit more.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Harls. What happened to him?" He asked, surprising himself at how genuine he was capable of sounding._ I need to do that more often_, he noted, eyes twitching in place of his usual self-confirming nod. His satisfaction intensified so much that it suffocated him when he saw the total unravelling of Harleen Quinzel. It was a marvel to behold; he watched her face crumple even more, its usual elegance destroyed to make room for grief, her bright blue eyes darken and age with the total acknowledgement of her loss.

"Do you remember hearing on the news about that gunman who went crazy and shot a bunch of people dead in Manhattan? My dad was one of the people that got shot." She explained, blinking a lot as if to dissipate the glassy screen over her eyes. It seemed to him that she wasn't too affected; it was a case of her having compressed the grief until it reached breaking point. She just needed to urge the emotions out, and she'd be as good as new, and hopefully a little easier to wear down. A surge of temptation coursed through his veins, and he licked along the inside flesh of his lips.

_Having her right beside me is a distinct advantage_, his mind growled, repeating what he already knew. His eyes quickly fell to her hands on her lap, literally inches from his own. Without warning or a moment to pause and think through what he was about to do, he snapped his arms forward and stretched them out to her as far as he could despite them being shackled together. His mind cried in triumph as he successfully curled his hands around hers, cold, skeletal fingers sliding over warmth and sparking fire inside his already burning mind.

The soft but notably non-fearful gasp that left her lips made him want to throw his head back in euphoria, but he retained the moment, savouring the lack of fear in her eyes. _She's nearly ready now_, he thought. Another thought pervaded his brain, and he felt personally insulted by how it placed itself in his mind without his permission. Her hands were soft and warm. So much in fact that they reminded him of soft, caressing blankets beneath his fingertips, like in the bedrooms he'd use when in the midst of staging his many cruel antics, the calm before the storm. The fall from heaven before you land in hell.

As for holding her hand, it felt strange- he felt alien. Physical contact that didn't directly involve the death of someone confused him, the foreign sensation throwing him off balance and spurring his mind to reel with supressed urges, forgotten memories, buried thoughts. Determination set him still, and he gritted his teeth in the grin and forced himself to stick with it, focusing solely on the reward of Harley's pristine former life's demise. Her eyes were trained on his, and he could see the sadness hardening, resolving into her previous professional outlook. He contained a sigh, recognising that for now, his patience would be a benefit. Her hands timidly slid out from his, and she cleared her throat as if the whole incident was a creation of her twisted imagination; _denial is the first stage to acceptance_, he reminded himself.

"You know, I am truly sorry for what happened to your old man. I wish I was there to destroy the gunman myself for ever causing _my_ Harley any pain." He growled, using the growl to control his contorted smile as he watched her eyes widen at the possessive term he latched to her name. Something inside him twitched in surprise at accidentally calling her "his".

It was a mishap, and a big one at that; it could have cost him. The accidental reveal of his possessive intent towards her could ruin everything, but when she instead moved to play with a stray thread on her fingers he felt another twinge of surprise to note that she wasn't bothered by it- not even moved. In fact, if he had had more time to analyse her behaviour, he would have said that something in the way she smiled down at her shoes and twirled her hair made him think that she actually _liked_ it, to some twisted intent. _Oh Harley, you are such a bad girl._

"Thank you Mr J, but I'm sure had you not been locked up here at the time, you would have been too busy to deal with some crazy old gunman." She sighed, closing her eyes and opening them again slowly, too slowly to be a blink but too fast to be any sign of revelling in anything. When her oceanic eyes clicked with his, he saw something fall away; the sadness and humanity wasn't gone, but definitely pushed to the back to make room for a coldness, a distance. The sea had frozen over.

"Nonsense! I'd always have time for you, my dear. Anyway, I'm still in awe over how well you concealed the whole ordeal. It's as if your mind blocked it off itself! Why is that?" He mentioned slyly, raising an eyebrow. Corny, he admitted, but he had no doubt that it wouldn't work.

"I never had a good relationship with my dad; I hated him, he hated me. I was never good enough. To be frank, despite my loss, it's a load off my mind. He never approved of me when I used to want to be a gymnast; he made me give up on my one dream, my one passion and forced me into psychology. He inadvertently forced me to seduce those around me to get what I needed just to gain his approval." She concluded, looking to The Joker for a sign, or some gesture that he wanted to speak. He gave none, save an invitation to continue with a gentle roll of his shoulders.

"My mom died when I was five, leaving my dad alone with me and my other four sisters, Hayley, Hayden, Holly and Harriet. Imaginative, huh?" She laughed without a hint of amusement, the smile never caressing her usually bright eyes.

"I believe Harls, you and I have more in common than you might think." He said gleefully. She paused, eyes drifting to an empty space behind him, and he allowed her to process what he really meant before responding.

"You know, Mr J? Maybe that isn't such a bad thing." Surprise made him stutter and for a moment, he couldn't think what to say, simply the contemplation of speaking clutching his throat and constricting.

"A-anyway, I think there's a simple solution to your problem. You can't bring your pop back, but you could ease your own grief over it. You need some time out to let all your emotions out, scribble on a piece of paper or something." He advised, swiping his tongue along his lips as he regained the reigns of his own words. _Why does she keep stunning me into silence? It's driving me crazy… oh wait. _Dark humour pervaded and penetrated his mind and he chuckled as he stared at Harley, who was nodding in agreement to his suggestion.

"Good idea, I'll have to do that. You're quite a good person to talk to, did you know that? It's good to have someone to listen to me every now and then. I usually always have to do the talking." The Joker dipped his head as if to say, "Anytime", but in reality, his mind was screaming to tell her that it was because she was too useless to do her job adequately.

"Now if you don't mind, I think it'd be best for the two of us to change the subject. I'm feeling better already. Next session, we'll get back on track, promise." She vowed.

"What's your favourite scary movie?" He asked, lashing to overlap her words before she'd barely gotten her words out. She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she'd picked up on his Scream movie reference. _She doesn't look like the type to watch those-_

"Oh God, Mr J, please don't bring Scream into it! We draw the line at Ghost Face, okay? He used to scare the crap outta me." She asked, and he fought down surprise of her yet again proving him wrong, as she laughed lightly. The Joker was attracted to laughter, and he took barely any shame in admitting that the laugh that filled his senses like wood smoke in a burning camp fire was the most beautiful he had yet to hear leave her lips.

It was fresh and raw, too loose for her usually tight lipped humour; it was the eerie quiet after a huge thunderstorm, the morning after the night before. It was the laughter of solace from having lightened the darkness of grief, but was just enough to convince him that she still had the edge of insanity to her name, to her nature. The tightrope she stepped across was becoming thinner and thinner by the second, and she was going to fall onto his side of it. And so they proceeded to talk about irrelevant chatter; presumably in a ditch effort for Harley to appear in control and try to build on their relationship.

The Joker had told Harley before that he knew there were no chance encounters, that coincidences were a conspiracy to be believed only by those in denial. To people like him, the ones that see the truth, they knew better. What had taken place during that session had proved it to him, and it was such a shame he couldn't utilise it to help Harley with her "character development", as he so fondly put it.

The Manhattan shooter who had killed Harley's father was none other than one of The Joker's old henchmen, on a suicide mission The Joker had sent him on. At that time, The Joker was still incarcerated in Arkham Asylum, but of course he had his ways of getting information to where it needed to be. He had wanted to remind everyone that even locked up, he was a potent threat, and so the Manhattan shooter was sent out just to cause trouble and remind everyone that nowhere was safe. _Just a little practical joke_, he had thought at the time. When Harley told him about his father, the 'little practical joke' became so much funnier; Harley had no immediate relatives besides her sisters who she clearly disliked, meaning she would be so much easier to isolate. Through that "coincidence", he had paved the way to making his creature, his toy, solely dependent on him._ I do love a good joke, _he relished.

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**See you on Friday! Don't forget to leave any kinds of reviews. I love 'em more than The Joker loves his Joker Toxin!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: All Of Us Are Done For**

I had come to dislike being in my office without The Joker being there with me. The room felt too artificial, too quiet. The silence made my ears ring with the ghosts of his laughter, and I felt a strange, inexplicable ache to hear it for real and not just as a figment of my own deprived imagination. Deciding that the silence was intolerable, I reached for the TV remote in my desk drawer, smashing the power button with unnecessary force. The rarely-used screen flickered to life, automatically tuning into the news station, its default setting.

"Vicki Vale here, reporting live from outside of Brentwood Academy, where the police have just brought in student Richard Paley. Since the news yesterday that the two Brentwood students, Stuart Hammond and William Hunt were found dead in their homes, the search immediately began for Paley, who had been seen exiting the scenes of the crimes. As a prime suspect, the chase had led here to Brentwood Academy where Richard Paley was located and arrested on suspicion of murdering the victims. Since then, we've been informed that Paley pleaded guilty whilst being arrested, although officials are refusing to comment at this time whether or not he gave a reason to admit to his crimes. It has since come to light that on many occasions, reports were filed to the GCPD, Brentwood and the student's relatives about the continuously severe bullying of Paley, leading several to wonder if Paley was exacting his revenge for years of torment." Her monotonous voice began to grate on my ears and I flicked it off, before finally taking the time to reflect on what I'd heard, lips curling.

Cynical, dark, unforgiving laughter escaped my lips, roaring through the room and tearing up what felt like my own sanity for a moment. Its toxicity choked me, laughter like venom in my mouth and leaving a bitter taste, despite the sweet feeling of escape it provided. It was as if my entire world and everything I knew was a physical building, and its foundations were beginning to crumble around me; I was already tearing at the seams, and now the stitches were coming apart. It was then that something struck me, something momentous and huge and very important, as I sat laughing and shrieking with black laughter.

"The world is just one big joke. What's the point of living if you can't _laugh_ once in a while?! The world is just a giant sack of shit and we're all headed to the same place; may as well have fun doing it! Oh, Mr J was right all along, how was I ever so blind?!" I pulled open my filing drawer, snatching The Joker's patient files and flicking it open to find the leaf giving details of his psychosis, eyes wide with all the knowledge that finally sunk in to place; he wasn't insane, no! He was seeing the world the way it was meant to be seen.

He had told me all this a long time ago, but only now did it make sense. Only with my recent decline in mood, reminders of my bitter past, the bitter taste of Gotham's descent into chaos, did it finally strike me to be important. My ruby nails scrambled for the phone, tapping eagerly across the numbers as I began to work on an idea that had been planted in my brain for quite some time, only now beginning to blossom and bloom. I had an important call to make.

**(Session #21)**

I had always adored surprises. Either being surprised, or being responsible for surprising someone else. So the look on The Joker's face when the guards hesitantly unshackled his chest and arms, allowing him to sit up and have free movement of his entire upper body, was enough to please me for a lifetime. I beamed at him as he slowly flexed, before finally dragging his stunningly green eyes to mine. He raised an eyebrow, but I ignored it, instead waving the guards away when they hovered over The Joker. Derek, with his usual enthusiastic need for violent reinforcement, grabbed my patient by the collar and growled incessant threats into his face as if it were romantic poetry.

"Derek, I assure you that your threats aren't needed here. We're close enough now that nothing bad will come of this. I promise. You know I have my panic button, I'll use it if I need it, okay?" I insisted, pulling my chair to my patient as I waved him away again, with more vigour than before. He grunted a cross between acceptance and goodbye, slamming the door shut when he and Tom exited. The moment the aggressive pair were gone, The Joker sat up, smiling at how relieving it was, I assumed. He even looked slightly impressed as he surveyed his limbs, and I couldn't deny the hint of warmth I felt at finally feeling more accepted by someone. It was attention; and I constantly craved it, the biting hunger clawing at me always.

"My my, what can I say? Who granted me _this_ privilege?" He asked, rubbing his wrists which I guessed were sore from months and months of metal too tight clamped to his skin. I forced myself to not think about the fact that his arms were free; and I was right next to him, arm's reach away.

"Actually, this was all me, Mr J. My appeal." I shrugged.

"Why? What could possibly be in it for you? Wouldn't you feel endangered? I'm safe, but still- human nature would dictate-"

"-Human nature, if you'll excuse the outburst, is bullshit, Mr J. Listen," I began, leaning closer, aware that an almost hysterical edge was beginning to creep into my bright eyes and animated voice; but would The Joker really care? He was the advocate of the crazy I was emitting into the atmosphere; I reckoned he'd enjoy it, too. I hoped he would.

"Tell me more. Tell me more about the truth, the proper truth, off the record. Not for your psychological progress, but for my curiosity, and your… ego." I said, jokingly looking him up and down when I mentioned ego. His grin widened, and it didn't take a genius to see that he looked impressed for real, cutting aside the pretending for my benefit. Anything he had done or said seemed artificial in comparison to the creature who leered at me now. The warmth glowed ever-stronger inside me, sure I would incinerate from the inside out, the inferno consuming him and me both. However, when he said nothing, I pressed further.

"You see, a little while before you came in today I had a revelation, Mr J. I finally saw the truth in what you had told me in the first session, and I feel such a fool for not believing in you and it sooner!" I admitted, and he nodded wisely as he considered my words, eyes drifting around the room in thought. A selfish, childish part of my mind hoped that the thoughts were all about me; nothing would be more flattering, even if I couldn't directly have the attention, I'd have his.

"Harley, I am flattered you see things the way I do. I'm pleased to note that you're developing, my dear daffy doc. You're changing, and all for the better." He chirped. My blood cooled a little at that, and I swallowed down any anxiety that flared up at his statement. If The Joker had picked up on me changing, I deduced that it wasn't meant to be seen as a good thing. _I'll keep that one quiet,_ I thought.

"Like what?" I asked, timidly clearing my throat as I prepared for his arsenal of words to take me off guard and shoot me down from the high horse I was perched on. I may have believed what he said, but I was still assigned to his treatment. I was still responsible for him getting better. He was still my patient.

"Your hair hasn't been in a bun for at least ten sessions, you never button up your blouses all the way up like you used to, and your skirts always fall shorter than they did the first few sessions we had. This is the _real_ Harley, coming out to play, see. You've been lying to yourself, doc. It's time to know the truth, indeed. _Your_ truth." He explained, growls not fully inaudible in his tone. His jade eyes sparked with passion, and I happily met his with my own, aware they blazed with their own fire to match his, which was a first.

"Your professional deal is all a beautiful masquerade, my dear. It's like a… it's a clown mask! And that further proves my point about the world being a joke, y'see? Everything fits into place!" He exclaimed, arms flinging upwards with all the show business of a musical director. My heart faltered as it sank in, and I felt the whole world dim slightly around The Joker as if seeing it for the first time. I hadn't noticed how much of what I _thought_ was myself had slipped away when I was with him, and I couldn't deny that what was left in my 'masquerade's' absence was far more enjoyable than the stiff upper lip my professionalism had to adopt.

"You know, I'm surprised you weren't scared when I held your hand last time. There are a thousand and one excuses I guess you could come up with to explain that; you were sad, I was shackled, whatever… But anyone should have been at least concerned. You weren't in the least bit disturbed that you were holding hands with a psychopathic serial killer and wanted criminal!" He cried, head swooping slightly to reinforce the severity of what he was trying to drill into my brain. His inference was clear; I wasn't bothered by him, I didn't mind him… I had _liked_ it. My mouth fell open but no sound escaped, and I widened my eyes, hoping he'd penetrate the quiet tension that swirled into the air following his words. He didn't disappoint

"Do you think curiosity might permit you to do it again?" He asked, tone softening as he leaned closer to me. Shock kept my mouth fixed open, air whistling through my teeth as it sunk in that he was asking me to touch him. We still couldn't touch without my cooperation in moving forward, the lower part of his body still firmly chained to the sofa. I deliberated over his request. Being a scientist, the idea of science was based on experimentation, on curiosity. Without any of those, no results would ever be conclusive. I didn't see the harm in allowing him to touch me or vice versa; after all, the panic button felt heavier than ever in my lab coat pocket, and I knew that my vocal chords were strong enough to carry long distance. Besides, more than anything, the calm that washed over my lightly trembling form was due to the trust I felt entirely in The Joker. I knew he wouldn't harm me, and felt no dubiety over that fact.

_You can do this Harls, _I assured myself as I blinked a few times and cleared my throat. _How many opportunities are you gonna get to touch the guy? Make the most of it; someday it'll make a great conversation-starter… or ender._

The sound of chains grating as he shifted, arms outstretched so his hands splayed open, broke my reverie and dragged me back to the present. I widened my eyes as my arms robotically stretched, no thought going into my hands sliding firmly over his, warmth clashing with coolness and cancelling each other out, like fire to ice.

A flare of panic broke out when he began to shriek with undulated laughter, so loud it reverberated off of the walls and made me tremble more. The laugh was hysterical and utterly hostile, no hint of genuine amusement audible. In one easy movement, he locked his slender fingers over my wrist, clamping his cold skin to mine and pulling me to him, causing my chair to crash into the couch. I gasped in surprise, unable to find room in my head to think, as if my brain was full of the static that could be found when turning on the TV and not tuning it.

The next move was the lethal one, and I could see how animalistic and predatory it was. The feline way he curled his right hand over my neck and used his bare strength to clamp it so tight and lift me completely off the ground, despite him being sat on the sofa. Fright shook me, before serenity and acceptance of inevitability pooled into my brain and made me completely calm. _He's just delivering the punchline_, I reasoned, a soft smile ghosting over my plump lips. I relaxed into his grip despite the fact I couldn't breathe, and accepted the tiny shreds of black that were beginning to invade my vision, my frame no longer tense and rigid.

My eyes grazed his face to meet his eyes at the exact time as he did the same, his snarling, vicious composure soon dissolving into intense curiosity, no longer watching but examining me. He frowned, and I guessed he was confused to realise that I wasn't afraid of him, afraid of what he would do. I knew that when the moment had passed and I was left alone to be bombarded with my own vicious thoughts, the shock that I wasn't scared would impact me and have the most sour, cruel effects. For now, however, I relished in the fact that I was still not dead, and that I was calm. Perhaps he'd see sense and release me; I didn't mind either way.

The Joker's fingers reluctantly uncurled from my neck, and I dropped unsteadily back to the ground, onto my knees. The pain of the stone floor frinding my knees was nothing in comparison to what I had just endured. I clutched at my neck as I rasped for air, and felt a fresh wave of shock flood my mind again as I noticed that the thought to press the panic button or scream for help never crossed my mind; not _once_. It meant I wasn't afraid of him, and that deep down I knew I could trust him. The prospect was indeed frightening, and career ending all the same. _I'll keep that quiet, too, I guess._

"Sorry." He grumbled, lowering himself slowly to lying back in the seat, eyes blankly staring at the ceiling as he seemed to consider what had happened, eyes flittering along the flickering white lights. After some time of silence as I returned to my seat, he leisurely turned his head to watch me again. By that point, I'd regained control and was already seated, ready to continue the session, deciding to hide my hands that trembled with the aftershock.

"You didn't look afraid then, either." He commented, and I knew it wasn't a question. It felt more like a proclamation, like a self-assuring observation. It was a reference to the point he'd made earlier about the first time he'd touched me.

"Well, I was initially, but I remembered what you'd said, Mr J. You were just delivering the punch line, with the world being a joke and all…" A more natural smile spread over his lips, and I felt a spark of shock as I noticed that that was one of the first genuine smiles I'd ever seen him display. And that smile made him look _glorious_.

"You've never looked as alive as you do now you're under the realisation, Harls." He noted. I smiled faintly, mind already drifting as I wondered _why_ I wasn't so afraid. Sure, the whole "world being a joke" thing was a contributing factor to that, but I knew and felt there was more to it, and I was certain it was linked to the strange feeling that swelled in my chest around him, the way my heart faltered, the way my eyes never left his. Fear? No; something else I'd felt before, but had long since buried. It pressed and singed my brain, more urgent than it ever used to be, as if the feeling had been growing over time, with each anecdote and sob story, with each compliment he paid me, the smiles at my expense. The imminence of the feeling worried me greatly, and from the way The Joker was staring at me, I could tell that the feeling wasn't something pure.

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…" The Joker suddenly whispered, licking his lips. A chill violently began to scrape down my back, and my lips involuntarily twitched upwards into the ghost of a smile.

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**See you on Tuesday! Don't forget to please review! It means the world to me.**

**P.S. Kudos to anyone who recognises which comic series I took the whole strangling theme from! It's always been one of my favourite Pre-Harley/Joker moments.**


	10. Chapter 10

**And now we'll commence one of my favourite chapters of the entire fanfic. This was always something I envisioned taking place when I read Mad Love, and I like to think that something (perhaps a little less dark than I've written it) took place during the comic.**

**(I also don't know if I've made it clear but from now on, unless I have a sudden change of heart, all chapters will be from Harley's POV, just to simplify the chaotic events that are gonna go down. From J's perspective, I've covered what I needed to)**

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**Chapter 10: The Darkest Side Of Me**

**(Session #24)**

_Why am I still bothering with this?_ I pondered as I fiddled absentmindedly with a button on my blouse, waiting for the guards to leave. _Every session goes the same way; I end up opening up to him, feeling weird about him, and then he talks about my character development. He's not being treated, I am! It would help if I had longer with him, but that's impossible with those twits about…_ With each session, I had become more annoyed with the presence of the guards and their roles that signalled the beginning and end of each session, as if their existence was only in place to aggravate and restrain me. I tapped my shoes on the floor with impatience, and stifled a snort as The Joker raised an eyebrow, detecting my eagerness and pointing it out. The Joker was the only person who could ever read me like a book; in comparison to him, Joan had barely even scratched the surface.

Reining myself in and feigning control when I had already handed all control to him, I straightened my back and subtly covered my slightly bared chest from the guards; Arkham's security patrols were infamous for having prying eyes that watched more than just the patients. Derek and Tom left, and I relaxed, dragging my chair closer and taking a second to admire my patient whilst he busied himself with various, insignificant things, including his position which he stiffly tried to alter, too shackled to move much.

When I'd first started treating him, he had looked awful. There was barely any meat on his bones; his cheekbones jut out like razors. His hair was slicked back but bedraggled, a darker shade of green than it used to be before his incarceration. Now, its radiance impressed me; it was lighter, healthier- a fair reflection of The Joker's then-current state.

As the sessions went by, he was restoring himself to a healthier state of body, and I couldn't deny the confusion it incurred in my mind; how was he different? Arkham's done nothing to help him, so why the improvement? I considered asking him about it, but wondered whether he would take offense to my picking up on how he had once looked any less _great_ as he did at that current moment. So instead, I favoured the point I originally intended to open with, taking a drawing breath in preparation before allowing my voice to splinter the cool, collected atmosphere.

"Tell me, Mr J, have you ever been in a serious relationship before?" I asked, ensuring my voice was as professional as possible. However, the question was practically unsalvageable. No matter what the context, it came off as childish and immature. With a sigh, I was reminded of how schoolchildren in the playground would send their friends to ask someone out on their behalf, despite that they were too young to be in any serious relationship.

"Why, are you offering, my dear?" He drawled, his voice dripping with synthetic charm. Not even a fool could miss his tone; the topic was something he either found tedious, or at that moment saw no gain in discussing- neither sounded particularly fetching. I frowned briefly, before switching to the upper hand and allowing my lips to twist into a cruel smirk.

"Nope. Please, do us both a favour and answer the question sincerely. Have you ever been in a relationship before?" I sighed and clicked my pen to begin making notes the moment I caught him roll his eyes and watch his chest fall in resignation.

"As I've said before, I'm an incredibly busy super criminal, Harley dear. I have never had the time, patience or interest in that. Until recently, anyway." He added, throwing a sideways glance to me for good measure. My heart murmured, a small flutter of the same foreign emotion to throw me off balance and pause my note-taking. I shook my head, not feeling quite in the mood to pay attention to my likely hormonal brain, and instead trying a different but not entirely unrelated line of questioning.

"Okay… When it comes to the crunch, do you think sustaining a relationship would be a possibility for you?" He licked his lips, the question briefly silencing him and making him thankfully void of emotion, a sweet reprieve and a chance for me to gather my thoughts. At last, he dragged his radiant eyes to meet mine, holding me steady like a match between predator and prey. I squirmed under his gaze, the alien feeling returning to my bones and coursing through my veins, simultaneously setting fire to my heart but cooling it down to the point that I shivered. It was like a shock of electricity, but it felt grand all the same.

"I would consider it, if it were the right person of course," He declared slowly, his lips moving with a deliberate exaggeration as if to try and get something secretive across to me. I perked up immediately, something far more pressing stealing my attention.

"What do you look for in a partner then, Mr J?" I asked, aware that the question had no dignity. But I seized the opportunity, recognising that romantic circumstances may be a strong indication towards his mentality. He chuckled throatily, before taking a deep, dramatic breath.

"Obedience is a must… and wit, actually. Also, maybe some charm and observational talent should be thrown in there for good measure…" He dragged on and on with rather misogynist stereotypes of women, to which I began to find offensive; I tried to battle down the feeling, convincing myself that he was only joking to irritate me, but then his direction took a turn that threw me so off guard that I briefly lost the ability to breathe, constricting me to silence.

"Being such a… dark character as myself, I'd like a little contrast just for fun. I like a blonde. A blonde that can pull off red is just a bonus. I like a girl that can really get in my mind and stay there… A psychiatrist, perhaps." I stood up, irked by his comment. I could hardly believe what I'd heard.

"Joker, are you implying you'd wish to initiate a relationship with me?" I asked, cringing as my voice wavered, aggravation only increasing when he simply shrugged with a little knowing smirk. I stood straighter; I could recognise a challenge when presented with one.

"That isn't appropriate." My voice faltered, betraying my confidence and making shame heat my cheeks. _Why are you even bothering with appropriateness at this point? After what happened last time? The professionalism was scrapped a long time ago._

"My sweet, you never said no." He reminded me gently as I sat down. I was acutely aware my cheeks were flushed with a spectrum of emotions, bombarding my pale flesh all at once. Before I had a chance to counter his comment, he changed the subject. Seeing no point in lingering on something he clearly wasn't too bothered about, I allowed him to divert.

"How about you, doc? You ever swung your hook in another man's pond?" He asked, grin only widening. My discomfort increased at the enjoyment he took from asking me such a personal question. However, I kept in mind that our relationship was quid pro quo, and with a sigh, I opted to tell the truth. At this point, I was scrambling at frayed ends of ropes, hoping they'd eventually pull me to the answers I needed. The frays were always balanced on being either too flimsy, or just about strong enough.

"I've only ever been in one, back when I was in my first year of Uni. It only lasted a year, but it was awful. He used my looks to better himself to his colleagues, and then at last minute when I considered spending my life with him, decided to abandon me to pursue _botany_. Last I heard of that son of a bitch, he was screwing some ginger botanist and got tied up in legal issues over her sudden disappearance. Marc LeGrande was his name. Bastard." I spat, fists bunching as brief glimpses and flashes of the terrible period of my life screened before my eyes.

When my rant was done and I had cooled down, a niggling sense of discomfiture swirled in the pit of my stomach as I noticed that The Joker hadn't said one word of interruption, or even a joke. It was unusual for him, to say the least. His dark eyes were fixated on my clenched fists, and it made me feel awkward as I uncurled them, feeling them click satisfyingly, bones unlocking and arranging themselves to their own normality.

"What are you staring at?" I asked, voice slightly higher in pitch to my dismay. _Stop it._

"I don't think I've seen you this angry before; it's like you're coming loose. See, doc? This is how psychology works. It all comes loose…" He trailed off, deep in thought as his eyes finally began to drift from my hands and to my eyes. As always, I was captivated, immediately held in place.

"I used to get angry when I was my pop beat me. But instead, I sought a different route. I chose to make people laugh, and deflect my anger in more creative, funny ways. You see, Harls? It all links together like I've said before. Life's just a joke, and we should all be laughing. Don't be angry; make 'em laugh instead. Even better, make them pay!" He cried, hands splayed in exaggeration as he began to hype himself into his own speech. The speech itself made me gasp and rocket from my chair, propelling backwards.

The chair screeched to the floor, but I paid no heed to it. Like a snap, a tendon breaking, my brain detached itself. I felt the jolt course through my bones and frazzle my skin, and suddenly the world was in high definition, a shade clearer than it had been up to that point. The same thought echoed through my mind; **_I was free_. **The weeks of sessions where I felt like I was on the brink, the edge? I thought I'd solved it, I thought it'd sunk in, but I was wrong. I was only ever stepping closer to the edge, and now I had fallen down, finally on the same ground as The Joker, where I'd always wanted to be and never known it.

"Mr J, is it okay if we call this meeting off early? I… I'm not feeling too grand." I admitted, before briefly asking for the guards to enter via walkie-talkie, to ensure they understood that it was nothing to do with The Joker. His eyebrows furrowed in an unrecognisable mix of concern and eagerness, and he sat up, head cocked lightly to one side in invitation of an explanation.

"Is everything alright?" I nodded, surprised and impressed that he'd care about me. _A notorious bad boy, a deemed terrifying killer, caring about little old Harley! _I felt special and unique, and it made me want to swoop across the sky and laugh and dance; it was like being a schoolgirl all over again. I'd finally gained something more personal than I had originally set out to achieve.

"Trust me, I'll be fine. Let's just say, everything's… everything's coming together." I trod carefully, faltering as his maniacal laugh began to build and build until it seemed to explode from him, fragmenting the air with his malicious laugh. As he was carted away, I stumbled back into my chair and swiped my hair clear of my face, a swarm of emotions beginning to cloud my mind. Before I could register anything, unexpected tears pricked my eyes and the painful lump in my throat caused me to crumple in a heap over the desk, arms folded beneath my head as I began to sob, my whole body hysterically racking.

I ended up wailing, like a siren, an emergency about to break out. _Mr J is so misunderstood, _my mind mourned. _He wanted to make the world laugh as a way of coping with his abuse. He was only looking for the attention he never got from his parents! _The revelations trickled down my cheeks, wetting the skin and making it glisten, light dancing across the moisture. _All anyone ever does is hurt him. They all break him down and deny him what he wants and needs, and it drives him crazy! _

"I promise," I managed to croak through smudged-lipstick lips, "I will never let anyone hurt my Mr J!" And hurt him, I knew they did. I had read the files, seen the news; Arkham was the most notoriously corrupt treatment facility within at least a hundred mile radius. I knew their illegal and controversial ways of treating their patients. I knew they'd given The Joker several borderline lethal sessions of electrotherapy. To think that they'd put such a damaged, misplaced creature through that torment made bile slide up my throat. I tried to dismiss the gruesome images plaguing my mind of The Joker enduring that, the familiar feeling of the pre-vomit sensation beginning to clutch at her insides.

Ruefully, I reached my decision, mind already racing along its set course. I couldn't stand by and let them treat my Joker like that, now I knew the truth. As I began to formulate a plan, scheming how to rescue my creature who had so tragically fallen for grace, the shrill and panic-inducing emergency alarm pierced the silent, calm atmosphere, making me jump in my seat and look up in question and shock to its source, wincing as the alarm shrieked in my ear, invading my brain. The lights shut off and the emergency lights replaced them, an eerie, strong red flashing light that washed the room with a bloody crimson. I gasped and stood up slowly, an ill sense of foreboding making me wonder why the alarm had been set off in the first place.

In my entire time at Arkham, the alarm had never been set off once, even for practice. I'd been informed when I first arrived that they were only used in extreme, life-threatening emergencies. It wasn't for a fire; in the event of a fire, a separate alarm sounded. This one was usually reserved for when a patient had escaped; there was only one patient I could imagine who would easily escape with a spring in his step. I hoped my suspicions of the exact cause of the situation were based purely on the fact he was on my mind anyway, but I knew that hope to be was skin deep. I knew the culprit, even if denial blocked out his presence.

Spine-chilling evidence came soon after as I heard the familiar, maniacal laughter and the whistling, the constant tune that always accompanied his mischief, even from our first meeting. The screams and panicked shouts of guards rushing past from the direction the laughter came from made me shrink back, and I knew that based on where my office was and where his cell was, he was incredibly, stiflingly close. I closed my eyes, chest puffing in exhilaration and utter fear, my metal door creaked open, and a peculiar sense of calm and acceptance washed over me. It was funny to think how at that precise moment when my patient stepped through the door, one of my only thoughts was that, _the red lighting really suits The Joker._

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**See you on Friday! It's all change from now on. The next chapter is to die for. I'm incredibly proud of it. **


	11. Chapter 11

**This. Chapter. Was. So. Fun. To. Write. I always envisioned this taking place at some point during Mad Love, and I infused my own ideas of what would've happened during his escape along with some weird fantasies (for lack of better term) and I've also been studying the Joker Blogs on Youtube (excellent series, thoroughly recommend them to any hardcore Joker/Batman/Harley Quinn fan!) Altogether, this chapter was born :)**

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**Chapter Eleven: You've Lost Your Mind**

"Hello, _doll_." The Joker cooed with harsh tone that softened at its edges, his voice strong and assertive as he strolled leisurely into the room, cracking his fingers in preparation for some unknown horror. Despite the situation, I took a moment to appreciate that he didn't look as menacing in a prisoner's outfit as I imagined he would in his usual attire. I'd never seen him with the famous wear in person, only through press photographs, but I knew that he didn't belong in a prisoner's outfit.

The door shut behind him with a painful clang, and I winced before cricking my neck and standing straighter, preparing for his onslaught. I turned as if I had any hope that I could run, but he swooped to where I stood with a delighted giggle and with an iron grip that knocked the wind from my system, clutched my throat and dragged me with him to the nearest wall, smashing my head with force into it. I supressed a groan as my head span and my eyes briefly fogged and blurred with mind-numbing pain. I blinked away the urge to release the mist in my mind through the form of tears, convinced that as bad as it felt for me, he somehow needed my pain, or something.

I was his therapist, after all; it was my job, my goal, to help him however I could. Besides, given how only a few minutes before then, I'd promised myself and him that I would do all I could to make him happy and to protect him from getting hurt. A strange, airy, numbing sensation of happiness washed over me as I realised that if it made him happy and made him hurt less, then it could only be good for me too, good for the promises I had made myself. Even if it meant a little head bruise to wake up to in the morning. I bit my lip to control my trembling fear that threatened to fragment and break up my fragile, demented happiness that lay like a veil over my brain. He came to rest his cool forehead on my own, breathing heavily with deranged exultation.

My happiness fragmented and ice cold fear set in, sending shivers along my veins, as helplessly watched my captor withdraw a slither of silver from his pocket, beginning to bring it to shoulder length, and not stopping there. _Who thought it'd be a good idea to give prisoners' outfits pockets?_ My eyes snapped shut as I felt cold silver press to my delicate neck, right where the heat ran along, where my life flowed through. My entire life was in his hands, beneath his blade; a flightless baby bird cupped in his skeletal hands. I smiled in pure disbelief that this could only happen to me, that I was at the hands of the man who I had once foolishly believed would be inferior to me.

"Are you afraid?" He drawled, words like sugar-coated poison seeping into my ears and pooling into my brain, hot like fire and just as dangerous. I shook my head softly, wincing with each shake as I felt the knife press deeper into my flesh, at the point of nicking the skin. He licked his lips, the excitement and sheer frantic nature of the moment making him more jittery, joints stuttering with each sudden movement. _Have none of the guards thought to check here first? Did no one see Joker get in? _Panic at last caught up with the rest of my dizzying emotions, causing my fists to clench at my sides and eyes slowly open as I waited for his response to my defiance.A deep and throaty laugh escaped his cracked lips, dripping with pure malice.

"I disagree…" He murmured, and I allowed a breath as I felt the knife leave my neck, but immediately repressed my breath again as he instead placed his hand and the knife over my chest, at the most delicate, feminine and sensitive area that wouldn't count as sexual assault.

A strange flutter of heat echoed through me, the younger and more provocative side of me still vaguely present, a brief rush of reminders of how I'd landed myself here, what I'd done, and _who_ I'd done. _Really, Harley, you're too predictable._ As if the moment wasn't hectic and terrifying enough as it was, I tried not to pay attention to the fact that my mind was beginning to halve, the voice becoming less my own and more someone else's. It felt like what I assumed going insane felt like, not that I wanted to admit that to myself or anyone. The irony alone was enough to make my stomach turn. Quickly diverting my thoughts and refocusing myself on the serial killer who still had a weapon pressed against my chest, I began to breathe again, hoping it would show him that I wasn't afraid, which slowly, was becoming a truth.

Subconsciously, I knew from the moment it left my neck that he wouldn't use the knife against me; not yet. The Joker had always talked about his toys, and I assumed that right now he was merely playing a game with me like a toy. He may be a regular cheater and an even more regular liar, but he wasn't one to end a game early, especially a game he enjoyed. And it was painfully evident that he was enjoying this one. I chewed anxiously at my lip, desperate for the echoes of lust that still traced my system to leave before I gave myself away. The Joker raised an eyebrow, his laughter rising in pitch and volume, his hand shaking from the tremors of laughter, reverberating on my chest. _Too late,_ the voice grumbled ruefully.

"So it's _that_ way with you and knives, is it? I didn't know you were into _that_…" He insinuated, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Even though I was being held against a wall, a knife to my bare skin, I still found time to be embarrassed by The Joker insinuating that I had a knife fetish. One day, I'd look back at this moment and laugh, I was sure of it.

The peals of maniacal laughter akin to a hyena's began to echo through the room again, and without any warning he snatched my wrist with a painfully relentless grip. I tried to struggle and pull away, but with the mixture of emotion, the pain and the recent trauma, I was no match for him and we both knew it. Especially when my maniacal patient then pinned his body to mine, his knees against my knees in place and chest pressing mine to the wall.

I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip to control my voice from slipping out a cry of surprise as he dug the knife into my skin, slashing a J into the pale flesh of the inside of my wrist. The skin began to hurt, burning and searing as it sunk in that I was being cut into with a blade; I supposed the pain could've been worse and held onto the supposition, but it didn't completely block out the pain- it was still there. The sight of the blood beading up out of the new wound made me cock my head in wonder; its contrast against the pure white floor it began to drop onto attracted my attention and held it steady.

"A little something to remember me by," he hissed in pleasure, trailing a finger along the underside of my chin as he pocketed the blade, "Until next time." My heart fluttered at the thinly-veiled sincerity of his words; it was definitely not empty. It was an unsure vow, a cliff-hanger, not an ending. With that, he snatched his finger and body away and began to stalk to the door. My new scar briefly forgotten, I stumbled one step after my elusive patient, before dizziness rooted me to the spot. _Well, I've left the wall at least_, I thought.

"Where are you going?!" I exclaimed, choosing to ignore the burning sensation of my wrist and the peculiar cool trickle of the blood splashing to the floor. He halted, whipping around to face me. My eyes widened in surprise and I took an unsteady step backwards as he skipped back to me, pressing his forehead to mine, causing me to fall back to the wall again, his body on mine. The rough skin of his made up face brushed against my smooth skin, and I flushed at the strange sensation of granite against marble.

His eyes began to gaze up and down my body, as if examining or assessing something. I narrowed my eyes to rest my head against the wall, content amidst the chaos enough to watch him and wait for him to reach a decision over whatever it was he pondered. His tongue darted out to swipe across his lips, and I was instantly reminded of one session when I'd spent an unhealthy few minutes wondering what it felt like to touch those lips. His green eyes glimmered with something similar to mischief, but with more earnest meanings than before. Like he wanted to experiment, but was unsure of the side-affects.

He hovered over me for a moment, before shifting almost uneasily. Although there was no way he could be, his movements made him look slightly anxious, as if whatever he wanted to was a delicate procedure. He was more than just an advocate of chaos; he was an engineer, and engineers were renowned for being overly-striving of perfection. Also, to add to that, I remembered one of the many personality disorders he'd been branded; narcissism. Anyone who was as narcissistic as he was reported to be would not want any of their plans to go wrong, or to seem anything less than perfect. I brought my attention back to what he was actually going to do, and seemingly at the right moment.

"Doll, don't say I ever treat you wrong." He muttered. Suddenly, without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips hard and without mercy against mine. My hands splayed out to caress the walls in surprise before my lips moved in response to his, exultation and adrenaline invading my senses and controlling my movements. I tried vainly to convince myself that I kissed him back as a sign of gratitude for setting me free of my "bird cage", that the only reason I'd returned the gesture was to avoid his disappointment, but when the familiar feeling that was nameless and unrecognisable to me returned and clogged my senses, I began to realise just what the feeling was, and it began with L.

His rigid, stone cold hands roughly gripped my neck, thumbs deep in the skin, causing me to cram more energy into the kiss, as a positive response to the feeling of literally being under his thumb and under his control. I could feel my skin blemishing with bruises like blooming flowers, but I didn't care. All I could feel was unadulterated happiness from the kiss; he _kissed_ me. He, who deemed everyone to be below him, gave me the sole satisfaction of kissing me, presumably because he wanted to, and to show me that he was pleased that I cared about him escaping. It was the attention I had always wanted, and never known that I'd needed it.

His teeth grazed my plump bottom lip, capturing it between his lips and feeling them collide and slip over each other, his breath swirling into my mouth and into my mind, fogging my senses. Everything I could see or feel or know was him.

Before I could melt further into his embrace, he pulled away sharply and slapped me softly on the cheek; not a reprimand, but a strange, twisted promise that only made sense to me and him- _that_ made me feel special. My cheek didn't even sting, as if to prove that it really wasn't meant to hurt; if he'd wanted me to feel pain, he would've hit me harder. It was the conclusion to his gift for me.

With that, he darted out of the door, laughing with enthusiasm and pure maniacal intent. The sound of guards yelling profanities and curses soon followed the direction that his laughter took. Knowing I was safe, everything that had just taken place impacted me, crushing me with full force. My knees shook, and I was finally thankful that he had pressed me to the wall. I ungraciously sunk down, slumping to the floor. My head swam, and the emotions swirled over my brain along with flashbacks of the past five minutes. _I hit my head slightly harder than I realised, _I noted as my head throbbed and pounded, nothing left to stop me from succumbing to the approaching darkness I could see in my peripheral.

"Fuck." I croaked as my vision began to blur and the stinging became stronger in my wrist; he'd cut me deeper than I realised, too. I twitched in surprise as I noticed blurred, undefined figures swarming around me, tall, imposing, more threatening than The Joker could ever have been. I only caught snatches of what they were saying through the ringing in my ears, and all I could do was meekly shrink away when they loomed nearer to me, sound intolerable to my throbbing brain.

"Joker's missing from his cell…"

"… This one's slipping unconscious! Laura, Laura can you-"

"- Dr. Quinzel, Harleen? Can you hear me?" I tried to groan in response, but I couldn't tell if I'd made the sound aloud or just imagined it in my contorted brain, fractured physically and mentally. Fatigue hit me like a sack of bricks to my chest, and my vision faded to black, my body limp.

The last thing I heard before passing out completely was of my own flashback, of The Joker laughing his pure laugh. Not the laugh he used to intimidate people, but his genuine, maniacal laugh, which I wanted to make the soundtrack of my life. The sound I wanted to worship, to strive to hear, to achieve. _His_ laugh.

_I don't remember my office floor being this soft, _I thought in confusion. If I could have seen myself in the mirror or felt my face, I knew I'd have been frowning. _I don't think I'm on the floor anymore. _With that, I was aware that my eyes were clamped shut, and knew that in order to make sense of something, _anything_, I needed to open them. _Okay, operation wake up then, Harls. 3, 2, 1… _On cue, my eyes fluttered open, and quickly fluttered shut again as the piercing white light of what looked like a hospital blinded me and made my skull ache. Contempt thumped me in the stomach; I hated hospitals, ever since I was old enough to remember hating anything. _If I'm in a hospital, I swear to God… _Before I could think further ahead in my empty vow, a dull gnawing in my wrist suddenly brought a tidal-wave of memories flooding back to me.

"Oh!" I managed to cry, attempting to sit up as if an upright position would help me see sense or otherwise convince me that my flashbacks were a false fabrication of my splintered mind. A strong resistance on my shoulders took me aback, and I opened my eyes again, forcing them to stay open. It took a moment, but when my eyes adjusted I realised I was in the first aid ward of Arkham, and Joan was currently pushing down on my shoulders. I shot her a look of both questioning and warning, but Joan shot me back a glare of defiance, as if to say, "Comply and I will explain."

I laid myself back down half-obediently, propping myself up so I could still glare at Joan with burning eyes, hoping to accurately convey my contempt at being told what to do. There was only one person who was allowed to do that, and judging by my flashbacks, he wasn't around to order me about.

"Harley, you blacked out after The Joker escaped and paid you a visit. I am sorry that you had to go through that; it must have been terrible! If you weren't his doctor, then none of this would have happened. I convinced them to let you do this." She sighed, rubbing her forehead slowly as the defiance I'd seen beforehand dissolved. I noticed the dark circles under my eyes, and slowly I began to consider that I wasn't the only one suffering at the hands of my escaped patient.

"Where did he go? Did they find him?" I pressed urgently. My breath accelerated at the very thought of what they would do to him if they caught him without my presence to aid his defence and possibly spare his wellbeing.

"No one's found him yet. He escaped out of a lower level window after setting loose some of the first band patients," She said mournfully, eyes dim as they briefly flittered to meet mine before dropping to her fumbling fingers. "Luckily they were all returned to their cells, relatively peacefully." I nodded slowly, processing everything all at once, fighting the nausea I felt from being so overwhelmed. As we both sat in silence, my eyes began to drift, mind still replaying the events from a few hours previously. From my peripheral, I noticed that my scar wasn't bandaged, but rather exposed for anyone to glance down and see; it didn't look like anyone had noticed it, although how it could have been ignored I had no clue. I turned my wrist over just in case, and shifted on the temporary bed.

"Joan, I need to get out of here. I need to go and breathe and think. Am I free to go?" Joan blinked slowly and peered at me carefully, wearing a mask as she adopted nothing but pure professionalism, before checking the clipboard attached to the clunky metal frame of the bed I began to feel uncomfortable being laid on.

"Well, you don't have a concussion; you passed out from a mix of pain- I suspect not all from a blow to the head- fatigue and emotional stress. You're free to go. But take it easy, okay? You need to sleep." She advised. I nodded and leapt up, ignoring the blinding orthostatic hypotension that fuzzed my eyes, like the white noise of a television set.

"Thanks, Joan! I promise, I'll get lots of rest, don't you worry." I called as I walked away, waving my hand shakily in dismissal. The moment I was from her sight, my own mask faded, and I returned to worrying.

On impulse, my thumb traced the scar on my wrist, feeling the hardened skin of the natural stitches it built for itself to protect me from infection. Anxiety's butterflies fluttered around in my stomach, making me chew my lip as I set about on my way.

"Mr J, please don't do anything stupid. Be okay, please… I need you." I quietly willed as I clocked out and exited Arkham Asylum. I did need him, that much was true; I needed him to help me make sense of my own mind, a mixture of emotions. Seeing him again would truly confirm my suspicions over just what I felt for him, that I had felt when he kissed me. But it was more than my selfish need; it was worry for him, too. He was all alone and frightened, and so was I. I never thought I'd have said it, given all that had taken place recently, but I was lost without The Joker.

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**I was very nervous about uploading this chapter, I'm not sure why. Please let me know what you thought of it, I would love to know. I won't elaborate on the kiss from The Joker's POV because I want you to make your own decisions as a shipper/curious bystander on what it meant. Was he just trying to persuade her? Was he curious? You decide. My intentions will remain anonymous. ;) See you on Tuesday! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! They mean so much to me, I am honestly touched. Missybeautimus, please read my notes at the end of the chapter, and thank you for the reviews! **

**I hate this chapter, I won't lie. I know it's not attractive or good for an author to admit that she hates any part of her chapter, but hey ho, I do. This chapter is literally a dialogue filler/fan service that is a common trope in stories (especially fan-made stories) that marks the shift to the second sector of the story. In this case, this chapter marks the end of Harleen Quinzel, and sets up for the next chapter, when her transformation finally sees results. I wrote it more for myself as an excuse to include more characters, and further reinforce Harley's shift in thoughts, and her coming undone. **

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**Chapter 12: I Let My Heart Go**

_It's been three days, _I thought numbly, the strange voice of my mind just above a mumble. _He's been missing for three days; it's on the headlines, the news, the web… it's everywhere. My Joker is loose somewhere, and he's probably so frightened and scared all alone! With the big bad Batman out to get him… he won't last too long if he's in a state! I want him back._

My mind was plagued with worry over the loss of my patient. I didn't even have to come in to Arkham whilst waiting for news on his whereabouts; all I had to do was do nothing but stress myself out to breaking point every day. Dr Peters decided it was best that I gave psychiatry a break until my patient was returned to me, and thus didn't give me a new patient to work on in the meantime.

By three days into his disappearance, I was beginning to lose the plot. I likened myself to a solitary ship, adrift on the sea with no flares, no radio and no hope of rescue or salvation. I was shut out in the dark, praying for anything to help me. With a groan of defeat, I smacked my forehead hard on the desk, not even wincing as the pain rang along my follicles and sent rolling shivers along my spine. It felt worse knowing that my pain was doing The Joker no good, but similarly, it felt good to have something to remind me that everything was real.

"You know, a concussion won't do a psychiatrist any good," a baritone voice rumbled from behind me. A scream of surprise escaped my lips and I tore backwards, stumbling to my feet and protectively splaying my hands wide, arms by my sides.

Before me stood the menacing, shadowed form of Batman, cloak concealing himself with only a glimpse of his crest available for identification, aside from the obvious bulky muscles and deep voice. His jaw was locked into place, an expression of discontent clear on his features.

I raised an eyebrow as I slowly lowered my arms to relax, peering around him to figure out how he managed to break in. My window was drawn open; I was so unfocused I hadn't even heard the friction of the metal as it slid open. _How long had he been here? _Setting myself as composed as possible, I straightened my spine and slowly prowled to sit at the front of my desk, preparing myself.

_Oh you know, you're only facing the second most dangerous person in Gotham, Harley,_ my mind began to grumble, fear setting in place as I remembered his reputation; even the GCPD feared him. _No biggie._

"If it isn't Batman himself. What can I do you for?" I asked, hoping that my forced humour would lighten the atmosphere and show him that I was harmless, if he had come to arrest me for something or some unknown crime, or assumed I was working alongside The Joker. Although it was a reasonable assumption to make, I was as in the dark as he was about my patient, although I hoped he wasn't as in the dark as I assumed. After all, he was the one who had been chasing my former patient around Gotham for almost half a week.

"Dr Harleen Quinzel; you are the Joker's psychiatrist, correct?" Batman pushed, stalking forward and allowing his shadow to loom over me, in what I assumed was an attempt to make me cower. Although I wanted to, I fought the urge to shrivel up like a wilted flower- I'd dealt with The Joker. In comparison, Batman was nothing to me. That thought didn't stop the impulse, though.

My heart thumped hard against my chest's flesh to hear my patient's name said out loud by someone outside of the asylum. It was a wisp of freshness amongst the stale, clouded air that had recently consumed my mind.

I nodded slowly in response to his question, adding narrowed eyes for effect, hoping to convey that I was strong-willed enough to withstand the pressure he was placing on me.

"I'm here with good reason, doctor. How long has he been in your care?"

"I hate to break it to the majestic, _dear_ Dark Knight but that's filed under patient confidentiality, and I can't loan that out to just anyone. Why'd you ask, anyways?" I hoped my contempt was obvious in my tone and lashed words, my previous pretences dropped; I didn't like Batman at all, and I never had- I saw no reason to lie about that, even if I was intimidated by him and his reputation. I had good reason to dislike him, and I refused to give up my ground for the sake of his feelings- if he had any.

"You've seen the headlines, Dr Quinzel; you must know that he and I have been chasing each other around for a few days now. Of course, The Joker is the type who enjoys the dialog that accompanies the action, and on several occasions he's mentioned your name." Batman's words sliced into my brain, pricking at my eyes and making my heart flutter like the beating of a bird's wings. _He mentioned to the most important person in his life,_ I realised. I was reminded of the stereotype of someone talking about their significant other to their parents; after all, it supported my theory of how The Joker saw Batman as a father figure of sorts, in a twisted way.

"Oh yeah? What dirty little secrets has he been spilling about me, eh?" I asked, colloquial nature getting the better of me as I slunk my shoulders back a little, certain that it couldn't be anything bad. I hoped that the impression I was giving Batman was cool, collected, in control but also amicable, depending on what he was asking. He broke into my office, so he had to play by my rules.

"He said you'd be proud of what he was up to. I hope not, given what he's been up to since his escape." My lips parted in disbelief to hear that The Joker had said such things about me, like he honestly liked what I had to say.

"Wow, he was really talking about little old me, B-Man? I'm flattered…" I trailed off, proud that I'd already put to use the nickname Mr J used for him. I could tell that he was beginning to see that I wasn't fond of him, his shoulders squaring as he sighed in what felt like resignation.

"Look, Harleen. The man should be locked up here for a reason. He's criminally insane. He's dangerous, he's sick and a manipulative liar. You've been taken prey to his lies, and you need to stop believing whatever he tells you." Bitter shock stunned me into brief silence- how did he know what The Joker had been telling me? He had no evidence; for all I knew, it was a ploy to distance me from The Joker so that Batman could keep Mr J insane, so he'd have someone to chase. In my eyes, _Batman_ was the sick one.

"Are you claiming that I don't understand how The Joker works? You're wrong, Batman- the only reason he probably ever mentioned me was so you'd come talk to me and convince me to stop treatin' him- which ain't gonna work, by the way- and try to put me off of you." My eyes widened as I began to notice that my New York accent was thickening, words slanted far more with the accent than ever before. I usually concealed it, aware that it gave me the edge of unprofessionalism, but my erratic emotions were loosening the knots I had tied to keep it in. My thoughts quickly rooted me back into place, reviewing what I'd just told Batman.

It wasn't like what I'd retorted with was a lie; I believed that was the purpose behind Joker's mention of my name. But hope would always pretend that he was saying my name because he liked me, and that there was no ulterior motive. Batman huffed in exasperation, stepping closer yet again. Fear coursed through my veins as I wondered if I'd overstepped a line, and how he liked to deal with those who'd crossed boundaries meant to be left uncrossed. After all, everyone knew that no one knew what side Batman was on. He wasn't a GCPD official, but he wasn't part of some criminal gang that anyone knew of either.

"I'm just warning you; _don't_ get caught up in it. I remember one time I sat in for one of his sessions with Dr Arkham- which as you know went awry after twenty minutes- and he explained how he liked to break his new toys so no one else would ever want them; he said he liked broken things because others didn't. Do you remember that session?" I nodded meekly, sensing that there was a shattering point on the horizon of his retelling, and dreading every word; each syllable was a step closer to that horizon.

"Well, that's what I also wanted to warn you about. There was one time where amidst the chaos that took place yesterday at the Sporting Complex, I had managed to ask what caused him to talk about you so much, to which he replied that you were a new toy." For once, I didn't react except for blinking slowly. My brain processed the information, awaited my body's reaction, and when none came, switched to the automatic setting of looking disinterested, like I'd heard it all before.

In actual fact, I was spooked that I wasn't at all bothered by the information, as if it was normal and I liked the idea of him breaking me. _It all makes sense now_, I thought sadly. _This whole time, the weird truths he'd throw at me, the perspectives… the constant confusion he gave me; it was him breaking me. That's why I always leave feeling so great, because I'm seeing the truth, and becoming his toy. Ready to be used. _The worst part of all was that I truly didn't mind; if he enjoyed his toys, that meant he was enjoying toying with me- and I liked it. Playing up to the role I'd conjured in my mind in a mere few seconds whilst I tried to process the Joker's true motives, I spoke.

"Oh. So he's trying to break me, huh? Well the joke's on him; I ain't some toy to be passed around like the dish of potatoes on Thanksgiving. I'll cure him, fix his mind, and then make him sorry for ever thinking he could break _me_."

That time I had lied, the 'vow' leaving a rusty, bloody taste on my lips. In that moment, I realised that my priority wasn't to cure or salvage the Joker's mind anymore; it was to please him, to make up for the pain he felt by being as good to him as I could be. If it's what he loved, how bad could it be?

"Just be careful out there, Harleen. We'll have him back here soon, and when he returns, you'll be back to being his main target. Until next time, keep safe." He said, not even a ghost of a smile tracing his lips. As I made to reply with something witty, or even demonstrate a hint of gratitude for the fact that he'd taken time out to warn me about The Joker's likely dark intentions for me despite its uselessness, he whipped around and launched himself out of the window in a few spritely steps, blending in with the night like watercolours, barely leaving a sound or physical memory of the encounter. I was alone.

"So The Joker does have plans for me, then." I said, not even bothering to make my mutters sound like a coherent question. I knew the answer; I might have even known it all along. As I stared at the dusky corners of the room and darkly considered crawling into them and awaiting the Joker's return. _I need to get out of this god damn room, _I decided, lightly trotting to the door, hand grasping the handle in a swift, graceful motion.

"Perhaps a brisk stroll to his cell might clear the air…" I pondered as I set on my way along the string of cells. I stopped when I felt compelled to look into one cell which I'd always ignored; the occupant was singing under her breath a song which stirred childhood memories of me alone in my room, curled up in my bed beside the record player. The song being sung was 'You're Sixteen', by Johnny Burnette. Once upon a time, I'd found the possessive lyrics of "you're mine" to be repulsive; now, I found them flattering, longing for one voice in particular to recite those lyrics to me. I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the cell's inhabitant.

Inside was a bombshell of a young woman, with nicely tanned skin- _Italian?_ -and rich red hair, the same shade as strawberries. Her eyes were a far brighter green than Mr J's, but they held my attention all the same. She stood patiently right up by the glass, cocking her head at me. She wasn't the first patient to look at me that way.

"What're you looking at?" I asked, pronouncing my suspicion with extra vigour so the woman would get the message. She snorted and stared down at the little pot plant she clutched desperately in her seemingly soft hands, like an injured baby bird. _Pamela Isley,_ my mind whispered, reminding me of the patient's name. I'd flicked through her files whilst in search of another's when I first joined. Her case was rare, and although didn't hold as much interest for me as the Joker's, I didn't forget what I'd read within it.

"You're the clown fellow's doctor," she commented slowly, voice rich with an ethereal accent, washing over my mind like cough medicine lathered a throat. I felt immediately more calm, her voice holding a soothing quality to its depth.

"And what of it?" I snapped, foul temper of tiredness and stress beginning to kick in, despite her soothing effect. _I won't even remember this pointless interaction in a few days days, what's the point?_

"Batsy'll drag him in soon, just you wait."

"Oh, thanks so much for your comfort." I sighed, too weary to bother with sarcasm, allowing the words to carry their own tone and weight. I mentally slapped my own forehead as I recognised my mistake; I'd given away that the Joker's return would comfort me. I hoped she'd see only professionalism in that statement. I could tell from her bright eyes that I wasn't fooling her.

"I like you better when your patient's escaped- you're far more… well, not much different from me. Maybe you belong in here too…" She purred, gingerly placing down the pot plant on the floor by her bed, before straightening up and softly laying a hand on the glass. _Sister, I'm starting to agree, _I thought.

"You wouldn't be the first to point that out, Pamela." I sighed. The patient laughed, even the peals of amusement making her sound provocative, like a simultaneous beg to come closer and stay away all at once. There were a few preventative factors in place, but if they were removed, I might have even found it slightly enticing.

"Please, call me Red! Just like my hair. I've always wanted someone to call me that, but no one ever does." She said, resting one side of her cheek on the glass, now pressed against it.

Mentally, I admitted that although the conversation was abstract and random, it felt good to talk to someone different and new who seemingly wasn't that much different to me. It gave my mind a chance to relax and de-stress. However, if I was still supposed to maintain the professional reputation I'd poured hours into building up, I couldn't afford to keep going with the conversation where it wasn't necessary, as much as I secretly wanted to.

"I don't know if that'd be appropriate, Pamela. Sorry, earn your way out of here and you can get whoever you like to call you whatever you want." I said, clicking my neck from side to side as I set my sights on The Joker's cell again, certain that I needed it, although I didn't really know why.

"Shame; we could have such a beautiful friendship, you and I. Green goes so well with red…" She gestured to her customised green patient's outfit, a reward she'd been given due to her pristine record. Some patient's liked a little less shackles, others liked input in their clothing. As I picked up on what she meant, I narrowed my eyes and swiftly grazed them over my own body, trying to detect where she'd gotten red from on me. I assumed that she was referring to my red blouse, which seemed to be the only colour blouse I would wear anymore.

"I'm sorry about that. Maybe one day I'll swing by or something for a chat, yeah?" I said, waving her off as I finally continued my walk, conversation already pressing to the back of my mind, where I could avoid easiest, and hide from.

"Well, I'm gonna be here for quite a long time. You know where to find me!" Pamela called after me, making me narrow my eyes again as I felt my lips twitch upwards. Not only did the entire interaction reek of suspicion, but it made me smile. She didn't seem _so_ bad; if only I had the time and things were back to normal (namely Mr J being back where I could see him and talk to him), we could've spent more chatting; I could have gained even more attention from Mr J for befriending a notorious bad girl.

It made me feel guilty to know that such an interesting creature of nature, a pure force who seemed to enjoy simple things, was confined to such an enclosed and controlling space. I knew all about her history, and sure, maybe she'd killed a few misogynist married men along the way to her imprisonment, but didn't they deserve it? I was too tired, too fraught with burdens and stress and the shock of having Batman track me down, to fight off the feeling that I knew was trying to slice through me since the Joker shared his perspective of the world with me all those sessions ago; all the bad things these patients had done didn't bother me. I didn't care, or mind, or feel sorry for any of the victims. That realisation scared me.

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**A/N: Again, I am so sorry! This is the only non-Joker chapter I have penned down. This could change, but I hope not! I love writing him too much to bear being apart from him. It's creepy because he pretty much is in my mind at all times... o.O**

**_Missybeautimus_; Thank you so much for your kind words! Your analysis of my interpretation of their building relationship is exactly what I had in mind, and had been working on. It's such a relief to see that my thoughts had successfully reached at least one individual. It's very impressive for you to so astutely pick up on all that given that you mentioned that you're not a big Batman fan. That's awesome! Again, thanks, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Here... we... go.**

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**Chapter 13: I Can Feel Its Approach Like Fire, In My Blood**

I was roused from my usual deep thoughts by a harsh knock on my door. I immediately recognised the knock to be Joan's. Only her raps on the door were as short and sharp as the ones that had disturbed me then; she understood and shared my distaste for elaborate, bothersome knocks.

"Come in," I beckoned. "Hey Joan. What's up?" I asked, trying to remain casual, but ultimately failing. I and Joan both knew that since The Joker had escaped over a week ago, we only ever spoke when it was of significance to either of us, meaning when there was anything related to the Joker. Joan firmly held in her hands the latest newspaper. She plopped it down on my desk, and folded her arms sternly, expression unreadable. I gingerly picked it up, fearing what new developments would be made.

"Joker still at large: body count rises," the headline read. My heart sank; he must have been so alone and frightened; if he'd killed anyone, it would have been because they had tried to hurt him first, like an injured animal. Anyone that fell victim to his retaliations deserved it. However, I decided to keep those opinions to myself. As tolerant as Joan was of my strange old ways, I doubt she'd accept my recent shift in perspectives to the way in which I saw most people's murders as justified in one way or another.

"How are you, Harley?" Joan asked softly, shoulders loose and rolled back; she was trying to engage with me. I stifled a dark chuckle; she chose the wrong week to engage me in anything.

"It's been a week, Joan! How much longer can this go on for? And if he's brought in, Peters probably won't even let me continue working with him now he knows how our sessions went and that Mr- I mean… Joker targeted me when he escaped." I responded, rubbing my eyes, no longer concerned about my appearance, with now-smudged eyeliner added to the tired effect. Joan sighed and turned to leave, seemingly resigned to my despair.

"Don't say I didn't warn you at the beginning of this mess, Harley. If he's brought in, you and I both know I'll do all in my power to let you continue your work with him." She said, before shutting the door behind her.

I rolled my eyes at my former mentor's abrupt attitude, before catching sight of the scar on my wrist; I couldn't help admiring it slightly. I'd always been abnormally drawn to tattoos and scars- they were like stories, untold tales on the skin. And _that_ scar's story was very interesting indeed. Sentimentality got the better of me, and before I could block out the story, my heart tightened with something more than just remembering something good. It was love. Yes, as crazy as it sounded, I found myself missing the Joker. I laughed bitterly as I figured that I belonged in Arkham as much as the other patients did.

I got the joke and understood life now, and that of course made me 'different' from the others- the helpless souls that fell for society's rules and seriousness. The 'normal' people.

"The world can't handle someone being different. They have to lock anyone who's different away. The world's cruel like that, you see? It's cruel and corrupted, just like Mr J. There's no salvation here." _Everyone's out to hurt each other_, I added silently. Before I could slip even further down the rabbit hole that was my mind, a sudden commotion and uproar began to kick up outside my office, accompanied by the sound of several high heeled shoes clonking down the hall in the same direction; the elevator. The shouts and excited phrases in hushed tones made me wonder, a flicker of hope flaring in my chest. What could rile up such a boring group of people, but the arrival of something- or someone?

Suddenly, Peters burst in, red of face and hair bedraggled along with a distinct lack of coherent breathing. I jumped to my feet, hopeful assumptions getting the better of me, and with seemingly good reason. He wouldn't have burst in if it wasn't a dire emergency.

"It's him," he panted. I needed no further explanation. Sprinting as fast as I could, I pushed past Peters and out of the office, following the direction of the commotion and ignoring Peters' breathy objections to my rush of pushy eagerness.

Ahead, only five or so steps away, held a crowded mound of thriving bodies, clustered in disorganisation. Through the swarm, I felt a surge of hatred course through me as I spotted the form of Batman; his set jaw and bulky, huge outfit imposing everyone who stood by him. Who he stared at near the ground was obscured from my view. Using my arm to propel and guide me through the cluster of nurses who began to complain about my breathless bustling until I called out that "he is my patient", assuming it could only be him, I pushed through and finally emerged in the clearing, to the centre where the object of their attention lay. And there, crumpled at Batman's feet, bloodied and broken, lay The Joker.

Shock snatched away my breath and I gasped with the last of my stolen air, tears immediately screening my eyes and beginning to trickle down my face, burning and singing my cheeks with fury. A small puddle of blood crowned his head and decorated the floor like spiders' webs, whilst gashes and bruises littered his skin like confetti. No doubt delivered to him by Batman.

I dropped to my knees, forgetting any form of dignity, and cradled my motionless patient in my arms, scooping him up like a concerned mother would for her child. A crooked smile stained his face, but I knew it was most definitely a performance. After weeks with my patient, I could tell when he was genuinely smiling and when he wasn't. Any crack in his composure would ruin everything for him, so he pretended like he wasn't in pain. This new information made me feel what could only be described as black. Bile rose in my throat, my teeth grating together in anger. My eyes burned as I glared with as much contempt and fury as I could muster at Batman, whose frown was evident even through his partly obscured face, jaw now set in discontent.

The crowd of insignificant nuisances suddenly hushed when they at last took notice of my tears, as if they expected me to make some emotional speech and fly away into the sunset with The Joker in my arms. I closed my eyes and chose to shut them all out, wanting it to just be me and Mr J alone together, but my ignorance was short-lived.

"Why does she care so much about him? He's sick in the head. It's weird," I heard one of the newer doctors mutter. My eyes snapped open and I whipped my head like lightning to face the culprit.

"I see more of the Joker than just his mentality," I spat, "I see him as a person, an actual human being who needed my_ help_. I also see the corruption of those who had the nerve to think they could treat him by shocking him near to death repeatedly, as if that wouldn't worsen his fragile state of mind!" The doctor blushed and stared at his feet, flinching as I then lashed my arm out to point stubbornly at Batman.

"None of this would have happened if it weren't for you, Batman! None of it!" I screamed, vocal chords straining to appease my sudden demand and rush of emotion. Batman looked taken aback and turned his head to a fuming Peters for an explanation, to which he could offer none.

Instead, the boss nodded to four security guards who stood by, who then marched forward and snatched The Joker from me. My arms burned from where he once lay cradled, and I brokenly yelled out in defiance as The Joker was dragged away from me, from my protection.

I would have been able to restrain myself to silence if it weren't that his tightly closed eyes opened briefly to wink at me, in reassurance, as if to say "I'll be fine". As he did so, blood began to drip from a gash lodged just above his eyebrow, and then his head slumped backwards, and he was unconscious, grin agape, eyes fluttered closed again. I finally understood what it meant to have your heart break.

The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving me alone in the hallway with Peters, who seemed to be just as red-faced as he was when it was from breathless surprise. Now, it was from an entirely different emotion, and one that had far less benefit for me.

"Harleen, never in all my years at Arkham have I seen such a display of insolence and lack of professionalism! Don't walk away from me when I address you!" He yelled, as I stormed away back to my office, shaken. When I reached my door, he pulled me back by my collar, despite my protests.

Bile rose in my throat once again and I considered spitting it in his eye and showing him who ran this show, because by God it wasn't him. _The only person who's ever allowed to tell me what to do is Mr J._ But the thought of not being able to treat The Joker again was more important than teaching a bastard a lesson about superiority, so I decided to cool off slightly, allow him to have his rant, and deal with the problem another time.

"You'll be lucky if you see this through to the end of the week, after your little performance out there!" He spat, teeth bared in an animalistic, failed display of dominance. Feeling the door's handle with my hand, I pulled it down, pushed the door open with my back and escaped Peter's hammy grasp, slamming it in his face, smirking privately at his cry of pain through the door.

"I'll leave the moment The Joker does!" I retorted, locking the door with a reassuring click, knees weakening.

"Does that mean when he escapes, or when he's cured?" Peters sneered, before his boots began to squeak away, incoherent grumbles following the way he paved. _I'm free for now, _I thought.

I couldn't deny that he had a good point; if he tried to escape again, would I join him for the next round? Or would I rather see him cured? In the heat of the moment when he paid me a visit before escaping last time, I'd considered it; he seemed so happy, and it made me think about how much happiness he'd been neglected from due to other people's evil. I decided that I would join him no matter what; it was a case of whichever saw The Joker most happy. I allowed myself to be consumed in my own dismal thoughts, losing all sense of time. When I had collected myself enough to become aware of my environment, my fingers twitched towards the phone. I checked the time and realised I'd been thinking and musing over The Joker for forty minutes. I picked up the phone, shaking off the black cloud looming over my head as much as I could, and speed-dialled the only person I knew I could call.

"Harley? Are you alright?" Joan's familiar voice blared over the phone, tone laced with urgency. It gave me comfort but also slightly annoyed me; it was clear she'd heard everything that had taken place when the Joker was returned.

"What did you hear?" I sighed, already knowing the answer, but entertaining the possibility that I was wrong about her for once.

"Everything- I was in Crane's cell at the time; Peters' voice travels surprisingly far when he's angry."

"What should I do?! What _can_ I do?" I fretted, after almost a total minute of anxiously rolling my bottom lip around my teeth. The tension frazzled the air, almost like static popping in my ears, the weight of my thoughts and mind and feelings all crashing together and melding into one.

"I can't believe these words are about to leave my mouth, but… I think The Joker _needs_ you, and not in the traditional psychiatrist-to-patient sense. That's why Peters is so mad; you are the only one able to get anything out of The Joker. He… He _needs_ you, and it pisses Peters off." Joan struggled, as if something was holding me back; upon reflection, it wasn't hard to hear that. My heart fluttered, and just like that it clicked into place. I associated need with love; I'd been aware and perhaps in denial of the emotion since he'd kissed me, but I forced myself to acknowledge the beautiful, _desperate_ emotion for what it was. _So that's what it is. This whole time. The weird feelings, the constant nervous butterflies, the red… I'm in love with The Joker. I'm in love with a mass murderer and certified nutso. I gotta hand it to you Harley, you really can choose 'em._

"Harleen..? Did you hear what I just said?" Joan insisted, and I realised I'd missed whatever it was she'd said. I managed to focus herself, as clear as the alien feelings I'd been having in the past had become, I had to focus on the matter at hand.

"Yes, sorry… yeah I did. Joker needs me." I repeated blandly, resigning myself to see out the conversation and then sulk until I could figure out what to do about my former patient.

"No, what I said after; I have some updates on him. But this is off the record- it's just a casual conversation about a psychopath, okay? I don't want to get the sack because of your attachment to Joker. I said nothing." Joan warned sternly, before the sound of rustling papers could be heard on the phone. I straightened up; perhaps the information she had for me would aid my decision-making.

"Go on! I'll keep it quiet, promise." I smirked wryly at how childish I must've sounded.

"As we speak, The Joker's treatment is wrapping up now, and in precisely two hours will be returned to his cell. Fifth band certified doctors are permitted access only, so you're fine to see him and try one last time to convince him to stop or whatever you can. I suspect that Peters will want you gone, so if you can magically cure Joker now, that would be great." My lips spread into the most painfully wide grin I could've managed under the circumstances, electric excitement buzzing through me, only washed down with the fresh waves of fear and tension over what I was supposed to do with the Joker.

"Thank you so much, Joan, you've been a big help. Always a big help." I sighed, before hanging up the phone. It wasn't until I'd placed the phone on the hook that it hit me how final my words had sounded, like a strange, less morbid eulogy to the relationship I had to Joan. She'd taught me everything about Arkham; she'd guaranteed I got to treat The Joker. Indirectly, she'd changed my life and made it the way it was now- it may be messy, but I wouldn't want it any other way.

I shook the sentiment away, and went to staring at the clock, my fingers beginning to thrum a steady beat on the desk. It was a waiting game, a countdown to something far more than just a reconnection between myself and the man I now recognised to be my love, and my obsession. It was a countdown to a huge change, and I didn't think it was the Joker who'd be changing; it felt like it would be me. If Harleen was the caterpillar, I contemplated what- or who- the butterfly would be.

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**See you on Tuesday! Keep the reviews coming in 3**


	14. Chapter 14

**Gosh you guys, the reviews are just too sweet! I'm really glad you're liking the story. I'm having such a blast writing it! Keep the good stuff rolling in, and enjoy the next chapter; again, not too much Joker in this one (that's the next chapter!) But really, my inner fangirl demanded this chapter happened. It was only fitting that this scene takes a whole chapter. Harley deserves it.**

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**Chapter 14: If Love's a Fight, then I Shall Die**

I had no reason to pay attention to my nails, but out of bored impatience, stared at them anyway, as if the red that coated them made time go faster; my mind had adopted childish habits like that of recent.

I liked their beautiful colour and attractive sheen, but there were more pressing things on my mind than the scarlet of my nails as they tapped and glided rhythmically across my steel desk, as if to clear my mind of its burdens. The clock was glanced at for what must have been the thousandth time, except this time, it was different.

My throat tightened as the clock finally struck 6pm, and with much needed drama, I kicked back my chair and stood up as if time were against me; it wasn't really, although Joan made it seem that way. I snatched my handbag up and slung it over my shoulder, clocked out of my office for what I didn't realise would be the last time, and locked it behind me, fingers only slightly lingering on the keypad.

I expertly masked my anticipation with cool collection, hyperaware that everyone was conscious of my earlier outburst of emotion following The Joker's return to Arkham. Dr Peters turned around the corner from his own secondary office at the end of the corridor, by the door that came between my office and the string of patient cells, and began walking in my direction. My heart sank and I tried to act completely inconspicuous, but to my annoyance, he sternly held an arm out and stopped me, allowing my chest to collide with his bulky arm.

"Where are you headed, Harleen?" He asked, reminding me of a kindergarten teacher, chiding a kid for playing somewhere they shouldn't be. Contempt swirled around my stomach. I hated that name, Harleen. I hated that question. I hated Peters. I just wanted to be able to see my patient and sort out the mess that was my head. The small, dark voice in my mind was so much louder than it ever used to be. Ever since it introduced itself when I was twelve, I used to be able to drown out the evil ambitions it whispered into my mind, but now it seemed to shout them, desperate for attention. _Lie, _it hissed to me now. _Protect yourself and The Joker; he needs you, and Peters is in your way. **Lie.**_

"I'm headed to talk to Joan; following recent events, I need some advice and some tips on the Joker's treatment. She is my former mentor and I rely on her and her knowledge," I lied, surprised at how easily the silver rolled off my tongue, and how good it felt to get away with it. Peters narrowed his small, mole-like eyes, enlarged ridiculously by his thick-framed glasses.

"Okay, there's nothing wrong with that I suppose… Don't get comfy with this though, Harley. There will be a meeting. You won't be here much longer. You're not planning on visiting The Joker now, are you?" He checked, gruff voice still being unintimidating when contrasted with his stout, portly figure.

"Well no, but I will need to at some point, _sir_. He needs to finish his treatment, and it would take a fool to be ignorant to the fact that I'm the only one he chooses to respond to positively-"

"- Harleen, The Joker has done _exactly _what I warned you he would. He has twisted your mind and made you feel pity where none should be given," Peters insisted, his voice shrill, aggravating my ears. I gritted my teeth, the voice in my mind dripping mirth and promise of revenge into my ear. I stifled a gasp of surprise as the mirth began to take a proper voice; they weren't just words floating in my mind, now; they had an accent, and they had mannerisms; twitches and awkward pauses and breathless laughs of twisted humour.

The Joker's voice was beginning to whisper sins in my ear, sending chills of delight and pleasure down my spine.

"Sir, any pity I demonstrated was fake, used to gain his trust and feed his superiority complex in order to fool him into giving me information. It worked a treat, huh?" I laughed, crossing my arms as the lie deepened. _Lying is fun; I need to do it more often, _I noted. Peters' dull, grey eyes glinted with mild admiration, and his reddened face drained of colour and softened as he believed my fabrication.

"That's… that's excellent. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Harleen. As I say, there'll be a meeting about you. Speaking of meetings-"

"- Yes, speaking of meetings, I need to meet up with Joan very urgently, as I have after work commitments." I concluded abruptly, the pressure of getting to the Joker, the voices in my mind and my pure hatred for Peters melding together into a potentially fatal concoction, hands balling into tight fists.

"- I was going to say that I'm late for a meeting of my own, so I'm going to have to scoot off. We'll talk soon, I expect." He waved me off, beginning to pace away with abrupt speed. My stomach turned at the thought of having to talk to him anymore. I continued on my awaited journey, footsteps strong and steady with a meaningfully slow walk, hoping it'd calm my nerves and convince him I wasn't headed for my former patient, until I heard the elevator ding and the shrouding echo of silence; Peters was gone. I picked up my speed, beginning to run down the echoed hallway. I shoved through the door and into the cell block, continuing at speed until I reached _his_.

The moment I reached it, my heart dropped to my feet and dissolved away into nothing. At the furthest corner of his damp cell, crumpled in the bed sheets, lay the patient himself. His usually neat hair clung to his face for dear life, a solid sheen of sweat on his cheeks. The gashes looked like they had been swabbed with antibacterial solution, but they still looked unsightly. Pity swelled in my chest for my former patient, and unsalvageable anger began to burn and boil in my blood, making my pulse throb in my ears. Seeing such a potent creature of elegance and force fall from grace made me almost inconceivably sad.

"I've got this, Mr J," I whispered, curling a fist gently but purposefully over the glass, "You'll see." Complete, calming acceptance balanced the waves of anger that had crashed around my mind, searching for purpose to their destruction. It was acceptance of the love and devotion I felt.

I wasn't just in love with a "nutso murderer", as I had previously put it, but I was in love with a broken man- and I wanted to make everything right for him; I wanted to piece together the broken shards of his heart, the imaginative half of my mind convinced he had one. Barely able to control myself, I remembered the standard 1, 2 of my legs and pushed myself forward as fast as I could, relief flooding my brain as I reached the empty elevator and trotted in, slamming my tight fist on the button to the ground floor, tapping my feet impatiently on the elevator as I descended. The moment it opened I rushed past everyone who seemed to need her at that moment, ignoring even a startled Joan who called after my name, in a tone that practically screamed of warning, rather than curiosity.

I rolled my eyes; Joan obviously knew that I had something planned that would not be to Arkham's advantage. There was nothing I could do but hope that our friendship- and thus, Joan's loyalty to me- was enough to buy me time to put my still forming scheme into action. I cast a sweeping glance back and smirked to notice that although Joan called hopelessly after me, she did nothing, not even alert another co-worker. _Arkham's system is more corrupt than Mr J could ever hope to be, _I reflected.

My heart had a chance to slow its constant racing whilst I drove to my chosen destination. I'd had it in mind for a little while, but had little motivation to act on it, prepared to allow it to be only a flight of fantasy, a desperate chance at pleasing Mr J; until I saw just how badly the Joker had suffered at the hands of Gotham's "heroic" vigilante. Now, I was dead-set on my plan, and I was motivated to release him, and follow him wherever he went. It wasn't about the job anymore, it was about him.

The drive was surprisingly calm, even when I had turned the stereo's blaring off. As the cold sleet lashed the car's windows and the dark began to seep in through the windows, I took the opportunity to observe Gotham's scum come out and play as they usually did. The low-lives, the bullies, the thugs and other violent do-no-gooders all enjoyed to put themselves onto the streets when the shadows claimed the sun.

Like a pestilence, they consumed the innocent and corrupted their delicate systems, dragging them down to their own levels of Hell. For once in my life, I wasn't repulsed by them, but more repulsed by myself and how I had ever fallen for the world's pretences, and been so unnecessarily frightened of them. If I'd had a chance to experience them for myself, I'm sure they wouldn't have been intimidating at all. The idea that the scum were any worse than those who walked about precociously in the daylight, flashing their money and expensive cars and pretending to be above everyone else, was a fabrication set up by dreams, wishes and the media. The system was meant to be a joke, and when I became aware of the system, I was meant to laugh.

I screeched the car unceremoniously to a halt, mounting the curb with no grace outside of the costume store. I strode in and blissfully ignored the pathetic children's costumes. I had no intention to dress up as Batman or a dragon or some crappy mermaid. Corsets were _my_ choice of weapon.

Ever since I was a mere twelve year old, I'd had an attraction to corsets. I loved the way they looked, how they felt to wear physically and mentally. The potency of wearing a corset was a less dangerous drug. I tried not to dwell too much on the euphoria tied in with corset shopping, aware that I had a purpose to this browse.

I knew that I didn't have a particular time limit but certainly didn't want to waste more time of my precious Joker incarcerated in a dangerous asylum all alone, so I rushed about with an idea in mind that I used to constantly think about back in high school. During Joker's time away, I'd dug up my old sketches from my closet and was almost spooked by how well they complimented The Joker's usual attire, as if my teenage years spent daydreaming were subtle foreshadowing for the events about to unfold.

The design itself was clown-like, sexy and empowering, and I wanted to wear it all. I sped around the store and grabbed a white, short-sleeved button up shirt, a vibrant red and black laced corset that beautifully accentuated all the right bits, a can of black spray paint, a pallet of white face-paint, a pair of black fishnet thigh-high socks and a black garter belt to clip them to, a realistic utility belt that could actually store small items, a short white skirt and a gorgeous pair of red knee-high boots that just demanded attention at the very sight of them.

When my arms bulged with delightful costume components, I took them all into the dressing room and set to work, arranging and laying my outfit on the bench attached to the wall in the way I'd wear it. I planned to later modify and change the outfit even more when I had extra time, but decided that for a small outing and limited-public appearance, my current usage of costume would be suitable enough.

Using trained, insightful eyes, I sprayed my left boot black. When I was certain that no red could be seen through the paint, I proceeded to put the rest of my costume on, and stuffed my clothes into the corner of the changing room- I wouldn't need them again. As I roughly circled my eyelids with my emergency charcoal eye shadow I kept in my handbag, I hoped that my gymnastic skills and previous fascination with superhero action movies would serve me well when I returned to Arkham.

I smeared the white face-paint messily on my face, allowing tiny cracks of my skin to show through; I wasn't too concerned with my makeup at that moment. I re-smudged the charcoal paint around my eyes where the white had accidentally overlapped, and then peeked in the mirror whilst splitting my satin blonde hair into halves and tying them into high pigtails, feeling like a younger and more freer version of myself; the real version. I understood that I wasn't Harleen Quinzel, but that I'd always been Harley Quinn, but had allowed Harleen to take the reins for a little while

"Wowzers, if Mr J isn't impressed by this then he must be blind!" I squealed, feeling like all my 12-year old dreams were coming true; my old accent was back, and I instantly felt like the bird was now completely free from the cage.

I smiled fondly as I remembered how all through high school I would sit at the back, right in front of a huge poster of a Harlequin clown that someone had put up as part of a Medieval poetry project. I had been entranced by it at the time; the playful colours and patterns made the character look funny and unique.

Like a vacuum, my emotions soon swallowed up the memory, and I was back in the present. With the costume, I knew I was onto a winner; when we first met, The Joker complimented me on my name and how it reminded him of Harlequin. His approval was what I strived for now, and I knew I'd gain at least a wisp of it with my attire. The moment that certainty of costume completion struck me, my boots confidently clonked along the floor, adding extra flourish and bounce to my steps.

Not even bothering to acknowledge the cashier, I opened the door to exit and widened my eyes a little at the bracing night air. _Summer's coming to an end for the year_, I noted with a hint of sadness. My first meeting with The Joker had occurred at the beginning of summer- when the evenings were late and I'd sit outside and reminisce on each day's work, scrawling extra notes in the hazy evening sun, fire-tinged light setting over the looming skyscrapers and illuminating their windows like dancing, glittering snowflakes. The odd contrast between the summer sun on the skyscraper windows and snowflakes made me happy; I loved everything disjointed and nonsensical.

The fuming cashier pursued me, pulling me from my joyful reverie as he vocalised his protests. My fists clenched and I swiftly closed my eyes, recalling the self-defence classes my father made me take when I had just turned fourteen.

"Thumb on the outside, knuckles not the flats. Aim for the nose for more damage," I muttered. The silver-haired cashier reached a halt and began yelling in my face, causing me to open my eyes slowly, leisurely. He wasn't prepared for my onslaught, and that made my lips spread in a cruel, wide grin.

I tucked my thumb outside of the ball, lashed my arm out and felt a pleasing connection between my short temper and the cashier's nose. The unexpected force of the impact sent him stumbling backwards and through the shop window, the shatter and sprinkle of glass igniting wonder and amusement in her eyes. I laughed bitterly as I stalked back to the parked car. _Harleen would have felt terrible for the old guy, I_ thought with a soft grin. _Luckily, I'm not Harleen. And I find that ironic, and funny. Fancy getting punched through your own window. How pathetic!_

"I never was a patient gal." I shrugged, clapping my hands together in delight at my successful attack. I skipped back to the car and clambered in, roaring the ignition and setting off at speed; I didn't want to be seen loitering around the scene of my own crime.

The drive back to Arkham was tense; now that I was actually about to commit to my plan, I felt a little intimidated. The only training I'd ever received and knowledge I'd collected about how to break in and help break out a prisoner was from my sessions with Mr J where he'd happily given me tips, self-defence classes, action movies I used to watch with my dad, and gymnastics. I didn't have long to stress over techniques though, as my journey took a painstakingly short time. I felt robbed; on the way to the costume store, it had felt much longer. I'd had time to consider the world and Gotham's scum, yet on the return journey I'd achieved next to nothing apart from remembering little tips the Joker had given me about things I didn't even know I would ever have needed.

I swallowed down my beating heart that felt like it had risen up my throat, and instead confronted my first problem- passing through the security gate. In order to do so, one had to present the security guard on duty with their ID card and their face for a facial recognition program to scan and allow or reject entrance. My face was made up in tons of clown paint, rendering facial recognition impossible, and I'd left my ID card in my white lab coat, back at the costume store, stuffed in the corner of a changing room.

_Shit, _my mind uttered. For a brief moment, I likened my brain to a blank page with only the word "shit" stamped in tiny lettering on its sheer white nothingness. I was out of ideas, and all I had was one curse as I stalled for time in deliberation.

I hopped out of the car and carefully observed my surroundings, taking good note of the security guard's emergency vehicle parked up beside the gate. I felt around my thigh, patting harshly, until I found my garter-pocket within which contained my trusty pocket knife that I always kept by me for self-defence purposes. The guard's back was to me in the control booth, and with a small giggle, I swiftly snuck up on him, looped my arm over him from the back and held the knife firmly to his neck, leaning to murmur in his ear. I didn't allow my brain to ask if I was seriously capable of killing him.

"You see, bein' a girl makes you more prone to unwanted attention from creepers, so we protect ourselves by carryin' around weapons; but those weapons can also come in handy when it comes to breakin' out patients!" I exclaimed, twizzling my knife against his delicate skin to demonstrate what I meant, the tang of my accent feeling all at once familiar.

"What do you want?!" The guard hissed, arms flailing desperately, slamming against the table and thrumming uselessly against me, his impacts doing nothing to lessen my grip and intention.

"I want the keys to your car." I demanded, in as simple of a tone as I could; I didn't want do dawdle. When he made no indication to grant my request, I pressed the blade deeper into the soft flesh of his stubbly neck, knowing that with only a bit more pressure, his skin would break and give way to pain and flowing crimson. It gave me a certain air of superiority to know that this one solitary man amongst billions was in my hands; all his memories and experiences, his very life, ready to be snatched away at any moment by me and me alone. I was in charge of his destiny, and the future of him and everyone that knew him. I'd indirectly affect many people, and I felt like a god.

I could feel the ripples of air bubbles in the guard's throat as he gingerly placed the keys into my free, outstretched palm, the cool of the metal serenading my warm skin. Before I could do anything else, he slammed his hammy fist on the large panic button stapled to the desk beside his phone.

"Well shit," I muttered, releasing the knife from his neck and grabbing a fistful of the guard's hair and smashing it with full force onto the desk, allowing him to slump ungracefully to the floor, still breathing but deep in unconsciousness.

The gates opened and I jogged outside and into the emergency vehicle, driving the rest of the way up to the very entrance of the asylum. The warning sirens began to sound, its shrill insistence echoing across the space around the asylum, the effervescent emergency lights glowing through the windows and casting the entire structure of the building in an eerie scarlet aura.

I tore out the keys from the ignition and stuffed them into one of the free pockets of my belt, reminding myself of how joyous a decision of mine it was to grab a utility belt that actually had the capability to hold things, and wasn't just for decoration.

With as much stealth as I could muster, I slunk into the shadows of the porch area, as I waited for the emergency staff to all clear away from the doorway, before creeping in and using both hands to grab fistfuls of the remaining two stationary entrance guards' hair and smash their heads together, leaving them to unceremoniously crumple to the floor. I didn't have time to wonder whether they were dead or not, but assumed they were just unconscious.

When it came to make my first killing, a small corner of my mind did wonder if I was ready, if I could actually bring myself to take away everything from someone, and therefore take away someone from lots of other people. Forcing myself to not think about the time when it would come and what I'd do, and when I was certain I was safe for a while, I brushed my hands of my recent work- men appeared to wear much more hair gel than I ever realised- and slinked to the elevator, insistently tapping the button.

With a slow grating noise that screamed against my eardrums, the door opened to reveal none other than Joan, alone in the elevator; she seemed unsurprised but angry. My eyes widened in near disbelief, but as I made to run back the way I'd come, Joan clamped her hands firmly to my arm and dragged me into the lift, leaving me to whisper profanities as the doors slid shut on us, leaving me to face my past at Arkham once again, in the form of my furious mentor.

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**See you on Friday! ;)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm honestly so flattered. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.**

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**Chapter 15: Forget Yesterday**

"Harleen, what were you thinking? What _are_ you thinking?!" Joan cried, tone high with panic and urgency, but somehow still managing to remain angry. I gritted my teeth at the old name I refused to associate with; Joan always used it, but she seemed to use it more frequently when reprimanding me, or trying to get her point across.

"My name is Harley," I hissed in retaliation, stabbing repeatedly at the button to the seventh floor, eyes fixed to the effervescent button. "Harleen wasn't real; she was a pretence that I fell for." I continued, finally forcing my azure eyes to meet her hazel ones, hoping I wouldn't feel guilt. Joan's eyebrows crumpled a little, harsh edges to her expression softening. It was clear from the dark rings circling her eyes that she was emotionally and physically suffering, and I had no doubts that it was over my patient and his effect on me. Despite my newfound duty to The Joker, I had no reason to be cruel or villainous to Joan; after all, I owed Joan everything; without her, I wouldn't be free. I'd still be in the bird cage, as I would never have secured a session with the Joker without her help.

"Look, this is who I want to be, and who I_ need_ to be, for the sake of myself, and Mr J. Just… thank you, for not handing me in to the cops. And thanks for... y'know. Everything." My sentences began to fragment as I found myself feeling obliged to not put too much emotion into my words, living up to the role I was setting myself as the sidekick of the most apathetic, dangerous and crazy guy on the planet, playing the part I'd chosen. Joan remained silent, but placed a soft, warm hand on my shoulder, comforting and final all the same.

I felt repulse to touch anything that represented my past life and the urge to move away took precedence in my nerves, but I forced myself to stand still, reluctantly accepting the contact as our last. This could be the last time I'd ever see Joan, and sentimentality got the better of me, to my disappointment. I knew I'd need to harden up a little to things other than the Joker, but I saw no harm in one last time of treating anything besides the Joker with sentiment.

"Harley, you don't have to do this." Joan pleaded, but I could tell from her soft hazel eyes that she already knew that I would pay no heed to her words, and was lying to herself as well as me.

"You know I have to do this, for my own sake at least. And I want to, really, I do. This whole time, Mr J was right, Joan! He was right about the world, and now I'm in love with him." The moment the words left my mouth, the elevator reached my destination.

The door slid open with a metal screech and together, my old mentor and I stepped out into the corridor, which was surprisingly empty. With an intruder on the loose, one would assume they'd have maximum security available on the upper levels. I figured that it was a blessing, and that I shouldn't concern myself with reasons why. Before I could set my mind back on the task ahead, I saw from my peripheral that Joan's head shook slowly, line of sight lowering to the ground in what was presumably disappointment.

"I'm so sorry, Harley." She murmured.

"For what?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me despite the sound of guard boots running along the corridors and fading again, alerting me. I withdrew a pocket knife and slid the blade out, admiring its glint in the light. I breathed out a light laugh of amusement as Joan took a step back, eyes fixed on the weapon. _I won't tell her that I won't stab her, she'll have to trust her instincts, _I decided with a wicked grin beginning to spread along my lips.

"I-I'm sorry for failing you." She stumbled as she forced herself to meet my eyes, despite the weapon I held up to the light. I felt the tiniest flicker of shame for letting down the one person who never gave up on me from the moment I entered Arkham Asylum, and wondered if there was any chance of reassuring her that she'd actually made me better off.

"You didn't, though! You did the opposite! You convinced them to let me have Mr J's case! You indirectly set me free!" I exclaimed, hoping to see one last glimmer of a smile on Joan's lips. When there was none to be found on her worn face, and my enthusiasm hung awkwardly in the air, I knew it was time to say goodbye to Joan, and in some ways, to everything that had gone before. _You are one sentimental piece of shit, Harl._

"As much as I will always respect you, if you don't clear off this level, I'll have to take action against you, and I don't want to do that. Goodbye, Joan." I declared, concluding everything and wrapping it in a pretty red bow.

Her crumpled expression remained plastered to her face, as she stepped backwards slowly. I took a final step towards her, and with a reluctant nod of acceptance tinged with regret, Joan ran backwards as fast as she could into the elevator, pressing frantically at the button to a lower level and pulling out her phone to her ear.

With that, Joan was gone. Shaking off the nostalgia of the entire encounter, I turned the corner and took to jogging, almost at the door between the cell block and my office, and found the guards that were pleasantly absent for the first sector of offices, where Joan and I had parted ways.

"Shit," I muttered, clenching my fist around my solitary weapon.

Five middle-aged guards from the lower branch of security were pacing restlessly on my side of the door, blocking my way of entry to the cell block. Suddenly, as if on an automated path, their heads snapped up to look at me. One yelled and pointed in my direction, and they began pulling out their knives. I couldn't help but find the lower branches of security and their lack of decent weaponry such as guns funny.

I grinned in sly amusement and skipped a few steps to meet them in the middle, immediately viciously slicing my blade through one of the guards' throats and out the other side, a clean cut.

As he slumped to the floor, I felt another guard right behind me, giving me no time to stop and contemplate the fact that I'd _killed_ someone, and felt no emotion towards it whatsoever except maybe surprise at _my_ lack of emotion. I had taken them away from a family, from a relationship, from friendships. I shook the emptiness away as another guard ran at me from the front. I ploughed my elbow into his gut and took his momentary breathlessness to kick him in the chest back into the wall, cracking his head into it and sending him into unconsciousness, slumping to the ground. I turned to face the rest, but was taken by surprise with a sharp gasp.

One of the more buff guards had wrapped his arms under my armpits and lifted me up, leaving me thrashing and cursing mid-air, feet above ground. The two remaining guards circled me, preparing to likely shackle me and arrest me, or perhaps knock me unconscious to prevent my escape. I began to lose the flicker of hope I had that I could escape from three men that outnumbered me in strength, size and age.

_Pole vault, _a voice reminded me. It was strong, sounded like a New York accent, and reminded me of myself. With yet another gasp of surprise, it clicked in my mind that the voice was my own, from when I used to take gymnastics a little girl. I paid careful heed to what she said, giving in to her knowledgeable advice. I trusted her with my life, now.

_Arch the bottom of your back, use his force against you to flip over and bring him down to the floor. If his back doesn't crunch, do what you need to. _I closed my eyes and imagined I was on the pole vault, about to make the winning leap, crowds cheering, hundreds of hopeful faces waiting in eager anticipation. Curling my back like a snake and using the guard pulling me back to push me upwards, I flipped over and my shoes connected with the wall. The guard's back crunched loudly and he crumpled to the floor.

I landed soundly on my feet, and made work to punch one guard in the face whilst stabbing the other through the arm with my trusty blade, briefly halting his attack as he yelled in pain, breath mangled.

Like the first guard, I slit the throat of the one I had just punched, and stabbed the other repeatedly in the chest until he too fell to the floor, life gone. Breathless, I wiped my hands and admired my handiwork, bodies littering the floor, blood sprinkled and strewn across them like snow.

"I'm one badass motherfucker." I admitted with a grin, surprised at how easy and fun I found it, having no restrictions or limitations. Having enough power to take a life and walk away. In response to my earlier stress over how it hadn't bothered me, I reasoned that it was because I grew up on a farm. In my spare time, I'd slit the necks of livestock to sell to butchers, helping my father and earning pocket money simultaneously. My charm convinced more butchers to buy our meat, which is why my dad kept me doing it. He didn't like the thought of a girl doing such a masculine job, but he couldn't afford to complain.

I figured that the guards were just bigger versions of the livestock I was used to killing from my childhood. I strolled through the door, feeling it close against my back. I breathed in the air, smiling with happiness. At last, I had reached the cell sector.

I could see his cell at the very end, guarded by Tom and Derek, two guards who once represented protection, but now represented my resentment to Arkham's system and corruption.

I smirked as I walked slowly down to the end, waiting for them to notice me. Their heads were turned away, giving me the advantage. At last, they both turned when my boot accidentally scuffed the stone floor.

Their reaction was worth the time it took; they both looked at each other with gaping jaws and blundered for their weapons secured way too well to their belts. I sprinted for the last few steps before they could shoot at me, still fumbling for bullets, and I swiftly drove the blade into Derek's neck.

Tom raised his shotgun to open fire, but I kicked it out of his hand, feeling his bones crunch as I did so. Picking it up, I pulled the trigger and watched the blood seep from his chest, laughing at how easy it was to kill someone insignificant to me, pleased that I wasn't weighed down by emotional attachments to anyone I killed. I stooped down and swiped his ID card from his pocket, planting a cheeky kiss on his cheek, leaving it stained with wine-red lipstick. _Just something to tease the people that come to collect him later_, I reasoned.

"Honey, it's nothing personal," I insisted as I swiped the cell lock and tapped in the code that I had memorised from watching them do it. Remembering how I'd memorised the code caused me to remember how they had mistreated Mr J; insulting him, knocking him about, leaving him scrapes and bruises and only further injuring The Joker's mind. "Okay, so maybe it was a little personal. But anyway…"

I trailed off as the cell lock screen flashed a vibrant green and granted me access, hearing the huge lock come clean of its mechanic knots. Finally, I looked into the cell as the door opened, only to realise with a flush of heat to my cheeks that The Joker had been watching me the whole time.

He looked better than he did when I left to act out his vengeance, but still was in no condition to be left alone and suffering in an asylum cell. I was then totally convinced I had made the right decision in helping him escape; not only was I freeing myself in the process, but we'd be safe and together forever. I had already decided he didn't need to be cured, he needed to be happy; I wasn't going to help him get better, since he was already doing so well.

But now I wanted to be happy with him; did I not at least deserve that? He raised an eyebrow, dark green eyes shining with something that almost looked- to my utter delight- like he was impressed. He laughed quietly before breaking off with a cough, and I felt so sorry for him that I wished I could suffer in his place; anything to release him from his torment. The psychoanalytic side of my brain quietly whispered that I was displaying traits found in masochistic individuals, or sometimes a woman suffering in an abusive relationship. _Shut up, it's not like that and you know it, _I told myself.

"Mr J, say hello to your new and improved Harley Quinn!" I announced, placing a hand on my hip as if I were a trophy to collect- which I hoped I was. He grinned his usual, mischievous grin and my heart fluttered before I ran forward to hook my arms around and under him to support him as he stood up.

"I gotta say Harls, I'm impressed! What're you up to, eh?" He leered, before shrugging me off slightly, spine cracking as he stretched and uncurled himself, a predator ready to attack. It sounded like it felt good, and I almost wished I could do it myself.

"I was a joker myself, a fool to not do it sooner, puddin'. But I see the truth now, and I'm breakin' you out! You don't deserve to be cooped up in here like a little bird trapped in a cage." I sympathised, hand placing itself over my heart, feeling the delicate thrums of its beating wings.

"A little bird? My dear, I prefer to think of myself as a vulture." He countered with a breathless, dry laugh as we both began to run to the elevator, me only one step ahead of him to lead him in the right direction. As he reached for the button, I yanked him by the wrist, causing him to glare at me, a silent demand as to what the problem was and why I hadn't dealt with it beforehand. Shame whipped at my face like an icy breeze, but I saved the internal reprimand for another time.

"Wait! Half of security are after us, or more specifically, me. Take the stairs!" I gestured with my head to the stairs through a door beside the elevator. He deliberated for only a second before nodding in agreement and jerking forward, unsteady on his feet. We burst through the door and began running down the stairs, The Joker panting heavily, chest racking with exertion.

"Only two more floors puddin'!" I encouraged, noticing he was beginning to lag behind.

"I'm beginning to taste blood." He growled sarcastically, to which I furrowed my eyebrows, angry that I had put him through more pain than he was already in. I huffed in relief the moment we reached the ground floor and saw only three guards by the entrance.

"Most of the security saw that I was on the upper level and have gone up there. Morons." I muttered, fingers clenching over my knife again as I tested my neck and allowed it to click pleasurably into place, feeling it judder in my palm.

The Joker flexed his fingers, before looking to me and nodding, exultation and pure maniacal delight visible in his now brighter eyes and how he held himself, stance steady despite his injuries. We both sprinted forward in unison and met the three in the middle.

I focused on one I recognised when The Joker quietly demanded that he take on the other two, in what I supposed was a test of his strength and endurance, and a display of his superiority over me. Despite my dubiety over letting him handle two strong guards, I obeyed. I crunched my foot into the bottom of my target's jaw and sent him splaying backwards, to the floor.

I chose him because I had spent my time in Arkham being eyed perversely by him in particular. He was a renowned creep amongst the workers who had largely focused on me, to my extreme distaste; three or four times I had had him brush unnecessarily against me as he passed by, and normally whenever I had the dishonour of having to walk past him, his eyes were on me but never at my eyes' level, but a little lower. Now I was willing to touch him, in all the _right_ ways, morality aside.

As I went to tackle him on the ground, he pulled me over and ended up on top of me. I kneed him sharply in the groin but he resisted with only grunts of piain, placing a hand over my mouth as his calloused hands began to rub along my sides, far too intimate for my liking, even if that wasn't intended to be at all sexual. His weight pinned me down and I growled angrily as I felt him try to get far too close, licking his lips as he prepared for an unruly advance.

"Seriously? I'm trying to attack you and you're gonna force yourself on me with that disgusting fish mouth of yours? Professional my ass, asshole!" I yelled, bile swirling in my stomach as I tried to think of possible pressure points to aid my release. An idea struck me, and in any other situation I would've laughed. Glaring down at his meaty hand, I widened my mouth as much as I could, and then mauled as viciously as I could on it, taking joy from his scream of pain.

However, he held his ground and I still couldn't move beneath his imposing weight. Before I could yell louder or knee him again in the groin hoping it would send a negative message and not an invitation, I felt him twitch and lay dead still atop me. I looked up to see that The Joker had taken my blade that I had accidentally dropped in my struggle, and had stabbed the guard in the back and through to the chest.

Disgusted by the guard and terrified he'd bleed onto me, I rolled him off and accidentally smeared some of his blood onto my cheeks in the process; it didn't bother me in particular. At least there was blood spilt; it meant he was dead. I picked myself up and thanked him, taking back my blade. He smirked as if to say, _I beat you_, before we continued on through the front door. Pride shot through me that we were enough to reach the joking stage in the middle of an Arkham escape.

"C'mon, I hitched my own ride." I said, pointing to the guard's car. They hopped in and I fired the ignition, tearing away and through the distant crowd of guards who paid no attention to the car, not realising it was an escaped prisoner and former doctor in there. The gates were still open from when I had broken in, to her surprise; had no one thought to check if the gates were closed to help avoid the intruder escaping? _Arkham's just full of morons, _I thought with glee.

The Joker began to laugh, and not just one of humour. It tore through him, like uncontrollable fits. It roared from his mouth and shrieked without a care or moment to pause, and I loved it. It fit him so well; it was music to my ears. I found myself giggling, joining in as I was finally free of Arkham, and free of everything that had gone before. I had The Joker- or rather he had me-, and that was all that mattered. I'd never felt so alive before.


	16. Chapter 16

**IMPORTANT: This is a work of fiction, to which I write for the sake of fiction. I neither condone, accept, romanticise OR fetishize abuse within any relationship. If you or someone you know are dealing with any form of mental, physical OR emotional abuse within a relationship, speak out. If you want help or further details on how you can speak out, then feel free to message me privately and I can hook you up with some hotlines and helpful resources. Don't suffer in silence, and don't suffer alone. Violence within a relationship is never okay.**

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**Chapter 16: There's A Bad Moon On The Rise**

When we were in the city of Gotham and not the outskirts where Arkham Asylum resided, The Joker began directing me where to go. Where I would normally continue on straight to the heart of the city, he directed me to turn right with short, sharp words that sliced through me.

I felt a brief flicker of discomfort set in my bones; we were approaching the outer rim of the city, where crime rates were highest. I'd heard horror stories of what people did in these areas. I didn't like the idea of being caught alone anywhere in the outer rims, and ending up the subject of the next popular urban legend of what happens to "innocents" whom stray too far. I sighed uneasily and straightened my back, and tried to keep my following cringe internal when I noticed the Joker turn to watch me intently, likely tickled by my strong reaction to our headed location.

"Hey, you look nervous! Relax, would you toots? You're with me, and I'm the worst thing around here. Screw that- I'm the worst thing anywhere!" He assured me with a hooting laugh, turning to look straight ahead as he pointed again to the right. I relaxed a little, smiling at his reassurance, feeling my heart squeeze a little that he cared so much about me; it was enough to make me melt.

I raised my eyebrow and felt the discomfort return to my stomach in the form of butterflies as he then ordered me to turn into an alleyway beside what looked like an old warehouse, long abandoned. As they clambered out of the car, I looked silently up at it, chewing on my lip as I read the large sign printed to the side that read, "Funnibone Shipping".

"What, never seen a warehouse before? I swear, you inner-city types…" He muttered as he began to stalk along the shadows to the back entrance, like a predator on the loose, which I supposed he was after all. He rapped on the door whilst I jogged to catch up to him, head constantly whipping to look behind me for fear of being followed.

"Actually, I love old abandoned buildings. I have a fascination with them!" I explained. He nodded absent-mindedly, avoiding eye contact as they burned into the door, waiting for it to open. _Is anyone even here? No lights are on_, I wondered.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" He trailed off quietly as the door flung open, the bulky and muscled silhouettes of two huge men shadowing over The Joker and I. The Joker opened his arms wide open and plastered a look of enthusiasm on his face.

"Rocko, Henshaw! The good men of Gotham! Did ya miss me?" The two men looked at each other and began to raise their eyebrows, clear disbelief etched onto their gruff features. The one on the right cleared his throat, and a strong New Jersey accent poured from his cracked lips; given New Jersey's apparent reputation, I was hardly surprised.

"Boss? Is that really you?" He asked in apparent disbelief, mouth slightly slack when the words ran dry. The Joker roared with laughter, briefly bending over to get it out of his system before straightening up again, feigning wiping tears from his eyes. I knew better than to honestly believe that he'd cry from laughter at something as insignificant as that.

"Of course it's me, you crazies, you." He scoffed, stepping inside. They let him past, eyes following his ungraceful entrance (courtesy of his limping), but as I made to follow, they snapped their shoulders together in a tight formation, blocking my entrance.

I felt nauseous, certain they'd injure me; I'd come so far, and I was about to be pummelled into the stone beneath my feet by the Joker's own men. I was no expert on these kinds of henchmen, but if they worked for as spontaneous a man as The Joker, I was sure they weren't the type to waste time in delivering cruelty, or making sudden decisions that would benefit them and not so much me.

"Who are you?" The one to the left demanded, thick pink bottom lip curling in threat. The Joker laughed quickly but without humour and roughly grabbed me by the arm, explaining that I was with him as he pulled me through them. I winced briefly at his iron, locked grip, but then shook the throbbing off; he had just rescued me, again. _My hero_, I swooned, ignoring the pain in my arm. It was the price I paid for having such a heroic man in my life.

"Too right I'm with him. I broke him out of Arkham." I crossed my arms, puffing my chest with pride. The two looked again at each other in disbelief, before glancing at The Joker for confirmation. He nodded once, and they became instantly more animated, opening arms wide. _A classic sign of attempted acceptance or apology, in this case both_, my psychiatrist's brain whispered to me.

"A broad managed to pull that off? Boss, you've been pulling the right strings there." The one to the left said slyly. I giggled and curtsied, enjoying the attention I had always craved, at last being bathed in it. My rescuer paid no heed to my newfound glory, instead looking around and taking a few prances in different directions, familiarising himself with what was his old home. It must've felt really good to be back.

"Rocko, where's the other guys?" He asked cautiously, coming to a halt in the middle of the large room. The fair, blonde-haired henchman cleared his throat, nervously shuffling from side to side. The sudden shift in the conversation made me raise an eyebrow; the outcome didn't look like it'd be favourable for anyone in the room.

"They weren't expecting you to be back so soon, boss. They decided to take vacations." I noted that the now named henchman, Rocko, was the one from New Jersey. His hand glided through his hair, pushing it back and slicking it into place, a classic sign of stress or anxiety.

"Well, I'll have to plan an elegant surprise for them when they next bother to show up, won't I?" The Joker cackled with glee, before pointing to the one I presumed to be called Henshaw. I watched Rocko relax, clearly relieved he wouldn't be held responsible for the others' attempt at ditching the Joker, before slowly rolling my eyes slowly and leisurely to watch Henshaw speak. The last few weeks had finally crashed down on my shoulders, and although I was free, I was tired. Fatigue began to creep into the back of my eyes, and I could feel myself beginning to drift away, their conversation only white noise to me.

"Is everything as I left it?" The Joker continued, to which Henshaw nodded quickly, his dark fringe flopping in front of his blue eyes, hooding them so they became barely visible.

"Good. That'll be all, boys. I need rest, so you can consider yourself dismissed, or something." He said, waving them away with sudden disinterest. They nodded, muttered in gratitude and exited the building as quickly as humanly possible, leaving myself and The Joker alone in the warehouse. My heart fluttered, wondering what was going to happen now. The future was literally a blank canvas, sure to eventually become splattered with crimson and black. He began to stalk away, and so I followed him, knowing I'd get lost on my own.

"Mr J, where should I sleep?" I timidly began, rubbing my arms that swept with the cold room's chill.

"I only have a room decked out for myself. Find somewhere else, or sleep on my floor." He answered simply, turning to face me with a grin on his face; he enjoyed his words. He liked making me feel awkward, but I already knew that. I pouted like an insolent child, not liking either option. I'd rather be… closer to him.

My pout turned into a squeak of surprise as he once again yanked me by my arm into the room he stood by. Given that it had a habitable bed, wardrobe and an en suite bathroom, I guessed it was his bedroom. He pulled me right in through the door and then to the left, hovering near the wall.

"Give me your knife." He demanded, holding his hand out. Confused and wary, I took it out of my pocket and placed it gingerly in his hand, feeling like an injured bird left to the hands of the first human to find it.

He grabbed my wrist and held it out in front of him, wasting no time in digging the knife into the skin, marble meeting crimson in a weak duel, the stinging making her eyes water with pain. It was like what he had done to me when he escaped, leaving a "tattoo" as a brand to remind me that I was his.

This time, he was carving three diamonds, in the formation you'd get on a stack of playing cards except with one diamond missing to complete its normal quad formation. As the knife tore lightly into my flesh, my teeth dug into my lip, praying the moisture of my eyes would stay there and not ruin my composure; I wanted him to see only my strength and admire me for it, if admiration could exist within a mind as complex and egotistical as his.

I forced myself to not make a sound or wince, instead blink a lot to eradicate the moisture in my eyes as silently as I could, glad his eyes were trained to the crimson beads on my skin, and not my face. When his work was done, he grinned at his handiwork and slipped the knife back into my pocket, making the sudden and unexpected contact send shocks of electricity along my body, the friction of him against me causing unforbidden thoughts to front my brain.

"Why didn't you flinch? I could see you wanted to, I'm not blind." He asked cynically, cocking his head at me. It saddened me a little to realise that cynicism was probably the most sincere he'd ever be towards me. I shrugged in answer, the pain flashing across my wrist still only just bearable; although I was in no rush to admit _that_. Any sign of strength was a positive in the situation; I didn't want to be considered disposable.

"I don't think you'll want to off me so soon, puddin'." He grinned maliciously before grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me backwards into the wall where I had once been an inch from.

I stayed there, hoping that this was going where the lustful side to my brain presumed it was. He loped over to me and forced his body onto mine forcefully, forbidding escape. I squirmed, skin feeling aflame as my thoughts continued to run ahead as to where this would go. I blushed, and he began to laugh and whoop. I heard and felt my own breath come in short, sharp bursts from my parted lips, and found myself staring at The Joker's lips, admiring them and remembering that they were actually very good at certain things, casting my mind back to when he had first escaped.

"I've always loved science," the Joker purred in my ear, shooting shivers down my spine. "I love experiments. I take great _pleasure_ in watching how things reacted to certain situations to help prove my point. I liked how you reacted last time; but I'm afraid I need further results to prove my hypothesis correct." I restrained a whine, suddenly very aware that I saw him_ that_ way.

"W-what hypothesis?" I breathed, squirming beneath his gaze, feeling my soul unstrip.

"That you are indeed in _love_ with me." Before I could respond, he licked his painted lips and crushed them swiftly to my own, a sweep of satisfaction embracing me as I was reunited with the kiss I had been thinking about for an entire week, nestled amongst my scattered emotions, blurring the spectrum. His strong lips moved with force and brutality against mine.

Briefly immobilised, I did nothing but let him do the work, before reminding myself that I had a lot of pent up passion to release, and that he'd soon grow tired of doing it all himself- I wanted. Besides, it was the least I could repay him for all he had done for me.

I moved my lips against his, breathing out softly when his teeth grazed my lip before tugging my bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it, as my tongue swiped along his teeth to his gums. My hands raked up his back like claws when his hands slid along my waist and followed the trail to my neck and began to slowly constrict me, until breathing was nearly impossible.

I didn't quit however, instead continuing to move my lips against his, moaning quietly at how pleasurable it felt to know that my life was in his hands, but he was too busy kissing and pleasuring me to actually commit to any crime it may look like he was going to attempt. I pushed my abdomen into his to graze it and spark friction, and smirked when I felt the tiniest, most subtle hitch of his breath as he wasn't prepared for the advance.

In response, he slammed his abdomen into mine, forcing it back into the wall. I gasped as my lips moved with more urgency, suddenly desperate for more, extremely aroused by his rough slam against me. However, his hands snaked away from my neck and his lips moved less, until they only just lingered over my own, almost unbearably sweetly. The Joker at last pulled away from me to stare deeply into my eyes, locking me rigidly to the spot, not daring to look away in case I missed something or everything.

"You will sleep on my floor, beside my bed… like a dog." He whispered throatily. I nodded and shrugged as if to say that I didn't mind; honestly, I didn't. _At least he wants me around,_ I supposed. _The floor is better than being left alone in a freezing cold warehouse. Seriously, where is the heating in this place?_

Goosebumps began to break through my skin and I gritted my teeth. He smirked coldly as he pushed himself away from the wall using a cocked knee, spun around gracefully and skipped to the bed. As he climbed neatly into it, I asked him if he was okay.

"Oh please, the moment I left Arkham I was fit as a fiddle," He chirped, before nodding to me and then to the light switch beside me at the wall I still pressed back against.

Slowly and shakily, I peeled myself away as if our brief romantic encounter had left me physically tacked to wall and flicked the switch off, and allowed myself a moment for my eyes to adjust to their sudden plummet into darkness, before the moonlight managed to wash the room and bathe it in a fine blanket of pale silver.

I crept to beside the bed, on the left side of the bed where The Joker wasn't, and sat down, observing my silver-laced surroundings. I lay on my back, arms beneath my head, as I stared blankly at the ceiling as if it were a screen, replaying the day's events. When I had woken up that morning- not that sleep had come easy to me since his disappearance- I was a doctor at Arkham Asylum, The Joker was still on the loose, and my career was still intact. In the space of a day, my life had completely changed, turned upside down. Or, right side up, as I saw it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the harsh eruption of The Joker snoring, accompanied by the occasional soft, masculine groan. I was tempted to call the breathless groans sexy, but felt like the very idea of calling The Joker sexy was taboo. He was so much _more_ than that, and being sexy would never cut it.

Sensing an opportunity through his skill of rapidly falling asleep, I stood up and winced as my spine clicked and crunched painfully, the day finally catching up to my body. The moonlight cast his already white skin in an even paler shade, and I marvelled at how alien but handsome it looked. His green hair, illuminated in the moonlight, seemed an aquatic colour now- I had never taken the time to wonder how he achieved that colour. Was it dyed? Was it somehow natural? I shook my head as I unbuttoned and threw my shirt, belt and skirt onto the floor where I had been sleeping, leaving me in just my bra, garter belt and stockings.

I was in the temperature purgatory where I was uncomfortably hot, but removing too many items of clothing would leave me in a cold sweat. Hesitantly, I climbed into the empty half of the bed, wincing at how stone cold it was, shuffling as close as I could to The Joker without disturbing him or interrupting his space. Also, if he were to wake up during the night, I could easily roll onto the admittedly painful-looking floor and denied ever being up there. The stress and fatigue of recent years left me in a state of immediate tiredness, and almost instantly my eyelids drooped, black dancing over my eyes. When I was in the state where I was both asleep and awake, I became aware of the Joker moving closer to me, his cool arm inching beneath the crumpled sheets until it lay along the side of my stomach, his warm breath swirling over my face.

"You're warm and I'm cold," he grumbled, assuring me there was no other reason as to why he was closer to me now. I fell asleep with a smile on my lips.

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**See you on Friday. And thank you for the lovely reviews!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Creatures Lie Here, Looking Through The Windows**

It seemed like forever since I had closed my eyes to sleep. _Perhaps you should open them, then, _my mind reasoned with as much sarcasm as it could muster. I groaned despite my conscious decision to open them, and groggily allowed my mind to focus as I stared at the rusty clock on the wall, hoping it displayed the right time.

My eyes widened as I read it as 6am. My eyes and mind couldn't focus, only blurred, fuzzy thoughts that felt like they should be important dancing around my consciousness. I mentally sifted through and sorted them like files, and then with that careful organisation, they all crashed into me at once, jolting me awake with a broken gasp pouring through my dry lips.

Disbelief made me turn my head slowly to allow my gaze to fall on none other than the Joker, whose arm lay loosely across my stomach as he slept, eyes screwed tightly shut and the grin still on his face in his sleep. I couldn't stop myself from marvelling and silently feeling pleased that he didn't mind I shared his bed; the contact was comforting, even if it was an unconscious possessive symbol rather than a romantic, warm gesture.

"Holy shit," I breathed, eyes wide as I acknowledged that yesterday was _real_. Before I could dwell too much on the past events and how I felt about them, a strangled scream tore from my lips as I rocketed backwards off the bed in surprise when the subject of my every thought suddenly sat straight up, ripping his arm from my bare stomach and yelled "Boo!"

Pain coursed up and down my body and I winced at the unpleasant feeling of the stone cold floor on my warm body. I glared up at the imposing figure of the Joker, who was doubled over laughing as he stood up and stalked over to his wardrobe. Unable to hold a grudge against the man who saved my life in more ways than one, I smirked at how lucky I was to be his; he was so eccentric and perfect in so many ways and wrong but right all at once, the juxtaposition that was his life enticing me.

To score such an enigmatic person in my life was the biggest triumph I'd ever accomplish; I knew that for a fact. I enjoyed the thrill of just his presence, let alone the anticipation of what the future might hold by his side my hand grasping his bloodied ones. My eyebrows furrowed as I traced my thoughts back to their source, and swiftly recalled just what had spurred on the gushing thoughts about him was my noticing the way he walked.

No matter what, no matter when, he walked like a creature, a predator at large. He demanded attention with a constant prowl, like a big cat whose prey lay right before him.

It was attractive to me, the animalistic nature which he had adopted. I found the fact that he was feared by so many to be titillating.

He pulled out of the wardrobe what I recognised to be his usual ensemble of the purple jacket and green waistcoat and purple pinstriped trousers, before skipping elegantly into the en-suite shower, locking the door and beginning to whistle an unfamiliar tune. I smiled to myself as I wondered what I was supposed to wear; I didn't bring any clothes beside what I wore as a costume, and I knew I couldn't wear that all the time without washing it.

"I'll just go through your wardrobe, then?" I called. When I heard a faint grunt of confirmation melded with disinterest, I loped over to the wardrobe and began rifling through the various garments strung on hangers. When nothing I saw particularly snatched my interest, I turned to look back at the discarded clothes strewn across the cool floor.

I decided to pull on my skirt over the top of the garter belt and stockings; they'd be acceptable for another day. Luck seemed to play for my team however, when I found a plain white button up shirt, similar to what I wore as a costume. I shoved it on and then laced the corset over the top and gave myself a onceover in the full-length mirror, and assessed that I looked decent enough. Pulling my hair into quick pigtails as before, not too bothered by their scruffiness, I foraged through my handbag for my emergency body spray, moisturiser and deodorant that I took with me at all times; being a former doctor at Arkham, I would sometimes have to work unexpected night shifts if there was an emergency, meaning showering at work. I was no fool when it came to hygiene- although I didn't mind mucking out and making do, I always preferred to have the better deal.

Using makeup remover and a scrunched up loose tissue in my bag, I wiped off my sleep-smudged makeup and decided I'd use the bathroom after he was finished, which thankfully, took only a few minutes more.

When he finally emerged, he was wearing fresh black makeup around his eyes and eyelids and red lipstick to exaggerate his smile beyond its natural limits. His hair was now a more vibrant green, carefully groomed and brushed back. I grinned at his magnificence as I stepped in the bathroom to apply my makeup, the air circling me brushing over his, causing unseen tension to build up within the pit of my belly, a mixture of excitement and something far more inappropriate brewing.

I considered why I had become so much more lustful since I'd left Arkham as I went about reapplying makeup, applying as much as possible for fear that Rocko and Henshaw would be back. I needed to appear as fearsome as I could to establish the ground I stood on within the Joker's little team. On the topic of lust, I decided that it had something to do with the unscrewing of my mind, and left it at that, not wanting to delve too deep. I needed to focus.

When I was done with a style I liked- that being a white face, dark red lips and black eye makeup smeared around my eyes like I had been crying to truly go for the whole "crazy" theme- I emerged from the bathroom, eyes falling immediately to Mr J sat at his desk, scrawling wildly on sheets before bundling them up and throwing them aside from him, muttering incoherently.

The sudden shift in atmosphere between when we had woken up to now didn't surprise me. If I'd learnt one thing as his old psychiatrist, it was that he was as spontaneous as they come. His swift change in mood was what mislead most of his previous psychiatrists to believe he suffered from a split personality, which would only become evidently false far later in his diagnosis.

I strolled over to the desk where he worked and perched lightly on the edge beside him, fighting disappointment when he paid no attention to me; not even a glance of acknowledgement. I began to stroke my legs and snap the garter belt's suspenders against my bare skin and sigh, just desperate for any sort of attention from him. I felt like I was stranded on an island, screaming out on choked lungs for a drop of water, stained red with affection.

"Get me my cigarettes from the kitchen, would you." He at last said, making it less of a rude request and more of a kinder demand in my mind. I jumped off my perch and circled him to stand on his left, by the door, hesitating as a plague of insecurities began to flood my mind, swirling in circles until I wanted to lie down.

"Are the henchmen there?" I asked meekly, unsure if I wanted to face them. Sure, I was wearing my whole assemble, but now I realised I could be in the midst of other men, I wasn't sure if a corset that only made my curvier spots far more noticeable was a good decision. The Joker shrugged in response, continuing to scribble on the crumpled paper. I leaned over to read what he began to scrawl; risus sardonicus.

I was instantly reminded of my university years where I'd studied biology for a year and remembered the term well due to its unusual nature. Risus sardonicus referred to the unnatural stretching of the lips into a smile, beyond the victim's control. The period of the stretching could last for different amounts of time, depending on the concentration of the poisonous weapon used.

I shook the thoughts away, infinitely more concerned about my clothing than his plans. However, I ensured to store it away as a fall-back plan if ever he needed it. _I'm such a good henchgirl, _I praised. _Someday he'll realise he's lucky to have me._

"Is a corset the best idea for a bunch of men? I don't know if I want them to think anything like that…" I trailed off, supressing a smirk as he finally turned to look at me, before staring rather pointedly at where my corset finished lacing up, just below my chest. He cleared his throat and turned back to his schemes, pen hovering over the paper for only a heartbeat before slamming back onto the page and continuing to scribble madly.

"Deal with it, Harley." He sighed. I stayed still a moment in deliberation before creaking the door open. _Whatever_, I thought. _If this is gonna be my actual costume, loads of people are gonna see it. I might as well get used to it. _

I shut the door quietly behind me, noting how the cold ground felt good beneath my stockings; it was refreshingly cool but not ice cold due to the material covering my feet. My eyes closed as I struggled to remember the way back to the central room where I'd first entered from.

When I had successfully retraced my steps and stepped into the familiar room, I was greeted with the sight of seven henchmen, intimidation creeping into my bones and setting them still for a while. I loosened up a little when I recognised Rocko and Henshaw, but the other five were total strangers to me. Buff, dangerous, _threatening_ strangers, at that. I straightened my back and steeled my nerves; I hoped that if any of them tried anything, Mr J would swoop in and rescue me, like he had done back at Arkham. _Well, sort of._ My mind swayed away from my body, imagining him running into the room and laughing like a hyena as he slit their throats, before cradling me into his arms and carrying me bridal style, stretching his neck down to slide his lips onto my own as his bloodied hands caressed my neck-

"Who the hell are you?" One of the henchmen interrupted. I jerked back into reality and turned my whole body to face the table of henchmen who were gathered around it, smoking up a storm and swigging alcohol. It wasn't even 7am, the pigs.

"I'm Harley Quinn," I replied with as much iron in my voice as I could muster, happy that the name rolled so easily off the tongue- it really suited me. The henchman, a pasty but ripped middle-aged man, shrugged his huge shoulders and snorted derisively. His hair was completely shaved off, leaving only tiny dark stubble in its place. I stifled a nervous giggle at how his hair reminded me of a chin.

"Darlin', your name makes no difference to me. You're still as insignificant as you was before you named yourself." I laughed without humour as I swiftly padded up to the drawers by the kitchen sector of the large room and beginning to trawl through them, in search of cigarettes.

Along the way I made a few unpleasant discoveries, including a dismembered rat and a miniature hammer that had bloodied clots dried to it. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the lack of hygiene of the place, slamming another cigarette-less drawer shut. I briefly forgot my mission to pay attention to the insolent henchman.

"I broke The Joker out of Arkham Asylum and he brought me back here with him, _actually_." I took the moment of pride to gather my senses, encouraged by how some of the henchmen raised their eyebrows, leaning back in their chairs and paying me full attention, giving me the ideal opportunity to bask in it, as I always did.

"Well that was stupid of you. The boss knows that a broad like you wouldn't last one day in his shoes." He scoffed.

"Give it a rest, Danny. I have a migraine that would knock you out solid, and you're making it shittier." Rocko muttered, slamming his empty bottle on the table and shaking his head. The now-named henchman didn't listen, instead leaning forward in his seat to urge me onwards, and initiate some violent outburst. _It's coming, don't you worry, pal._

"Actually, I used to be his psychiatrist back at Arkham. I did more than just live in his shoes. I lived in his _mind_. So suck it, douchebag. Back off." I snapped, briefly surprised by my own vehemence. His eyebrows rose like the rest and his mouth opened and closed uselessly like a fish. He was successfully stumped.

I smirked and blew him a kiss, before continuing to trawl in search of cigarettes. As I battled the urge to stick my middle finger up at the group huddled around drinking like they had no reason to live, I heard the Joker cough madly and rasp, before yelling.

"Where's my cigarettes?!" My heart sank to my knees, making them tremble with uncertainty.

"Well, if these drawers had better maintenance, I'd find them quicker." I yelled back, glaring fiercely at the men who began to snigger at me being so easily manipulated.

"Harley! Come here. NOW!" He yelled, this time his voice like black, oozing pure tar. I didn't have the cigarettes; he'd kill me. Literally.

"First timer," I heard Danny mutter as I strode away, arms swinging by my side as I felt like a child in trouble. I returned to the room and creaked open the door, surprise halting me as my eyes immediately fell to the desk where he was no longer sat at. I opened my mouth to question what he wanted me to do next, when he appeared from behind the door, dragged me into the room with one hand clamped around my neck and stuck his foot out behind my own, causing me to trip backwards and land painfully on my back. I groaned when I felt a sickening crunch echo through me as my shoulder blades flattened with the connection to the stone cold ground. I lay there, perfectly still and silent, as if I were prey pretending to be dead to avoid the predator.

The amount of times I'd compared my relationship to the Joker with predator and prey almost alarmed me. _Almost_.

After a swift internal assessment and deciding I wasn't paralysed, no disc had slipped and I wasn't bleeding internally or otherwise, I simply looked up at my attacker for an explanation as he began to laugh his usual, mischievous laugh and whoop, dancing around above me as if he'd won a prize for his triumph, before throwing himself on top of me, pinning me down as the air whistled from my cracked lips. I squirmed beneath his weight, but he convinced me to hold myself still when he leaned down to purr in my ear.

"Whaddaya think of my henchmen then, Harley doll?"

"I don't appreciate being reduced to a stereotype, for a start." I spat defiantly, vision flashing red at the thought of facing Danny anymore.

"My, my… You really don't, do ya?" The question dripped of rhetoric intent, so instead I kept quiet and waited for the clogs to stop turning, briefly forgetting that with The Joker, the clogs _never_ stopped turning.

"My doll is always hiding more than I realise, now isn't she..?" He murmured, licking his lips, his moisture breath tickling my ear and making me shrink inwards a little. I smirked as I sensed an opportunity to seize the upper hand and stump The Joker as I had done with Danny; it was a challenging opportunity, but I had done it to the Joker in the past… surely I could do it again.

"Whereas you, puddin', hide nothing. What you see is what you get. You're as predictable as anything." I tried, cocking an eyebrow. He giggled and sat up a little to get a proper look at me. I felt self-conscious when he stayed completely silent, his jade eyes intently grazing over my features, soaking them in and seeming to digest them, as if to commit my physicality to memory.

I knew immediately I was going to lose whatever I was even trying to win, not that I could think straight with the man I loved currently taking me in with his watchful gaze. The depth of his eyes had me almost immediately lost and in a trance, forgetting whatever seemed important only moments before. At last, he cocked his head to the side a little, in clear acceptance of the challenge.

"Oh, is that so? Well, would just anything do _this_?" He countered, before forcefully pushing his lips onto mine again and moving them against my lips. I felt briefly let down to realise that he was only doing it to prove a point, but the emotion dispelled as I moaned when his mouth left mine to leave feral bites along my neck, sucking enough to make it sweet but being harsh with his teeth to remind her that viciousness and proof of a point was the first intention, and pleasure came after as a reward, or comfort.

My breath caught in my throat when I noticed the sliver of silver of my blade once again in his hand, and felt the cool metal press to my exposed stomach, where my shirt had rode up in the friction between his body and my own.

He clucked disapprovingly at my shock, pulling away from me, a knife-gripping hand splayed over my stomach as the other went to softly grip my neck, finely balancing the pressure his thumbs placed on my jugular so it sat uncomfortably on the border between being a threat and consenting affection.

"You should have more faith in me," he scorned as he began to cut at each strap of my corset free. When it popped open, he discarded it quickly with a grin of ecstasy and triumph and began his work on me. As far as mornings went, that one went pretty great.

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**The idea for this scene has been playing through my head ever since I started this. I knew I wanted 7 henchmen because 7 is such an awkward number, PLUS seven henchmen is the amount I need for the final third of my chapter. I've always wondered how the other men would first react to Harley joining, so this was a useful way of introducing them all. Don't worry, you'll learn about them all in good time, and come to love them as much as I already do. **

**I won't pretend that I won't miss the Arkham chapters; I loved writing about the seduction and the tension- the sessions would cling to my mind for days after I wrote each one! But now, they have freedom to do what they please, and fairly soon, you're gonna discover what they get up to first. This story doesn't have a lot of chapters left; but I might have an announcement to make. So stay tuned. See you on Tuesday!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Don't judge me, okay; I was prom-dress shopping when I wrote this. **

**Also, to the person who commented on it (thank you by the way, I do truly appreciate your advice!) I did indeed not include graphic detail of a sex scene. Because, from my perspective, I feel that there's no way of writing it that would justify just how *AWESOME* their sex would be (because let's not lie, it'd be sexy and freaky but downright awesome) That's not to say that I won't possibly write a sex scene at some point in the future (since I might have sequels planned for this story) but I didn't want anyone to get upset because the sex wasn't how they imagined it'd be. The way I did it, it's left to your imagination. In some ways, that's sexier because you can put in whatever fantasies you want and Bob's your uncle, I condone it. **

**Anywho, on with the show!**

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**Chapter 18: You're A Hot Mess**

A sharp slap to the face was what I had needed- although admittedly, not what I wanted- to bring me crashing down to reality. My cheek stung as pain pebbled the skin. I turned to glare at the man responsible, if you could call him a man, when he always seemed to be so much more. He was looking at me with extreme displeasure set in his dark eyes, as if waiting for me to come up with something intelligent, witty, even. I was at a loss, brain still fuzzy form the events that had taken place not so long ago, the sensations still lingering over my skin, providing me with warmth.

"Sorry, puddin'… I'm unfocused at the moment." I explained, rubbing the back of my neck where he and I both knew a particularly huge and sexy love bite lay. My hint was blindingly obvious, to the point where I cringed when he looked away after rolling his eyes, muttering something about "broads and their need for sex."

"Bruce Wayne is hosting a charity gala tonight," The Joker said, viciously stabbing his blueprints with one finger, only needing the one to prove his motivation and need for success. I could see that his excitement was beginning to build, his tone rising in pitch and his movements becoming jittery with each word.

_He's got something in mind, _I noted. _Whatever it is, it's gonna be wonderful._

"We're going to crash their cosy little party, and cause a fuss to attract the big bad Bat's attraction from wherever it is he lurks like the scum he is."

"Brilliant, puddin'!" I exclaimed in delight, clasping my hands behind my back and gently swaying, widening my eyes as he turned to face me, a low rumble building in his throat.

"Why do you use that _name_, my sweet? Does it not get tiresome, after a while?" He spat, a synthetic grin cracking his painted lips. The pure contrast between his harsh words and the smile that adorned his face sent chills creeping along my spine, and I shuddered involuntarily.

"Well, puddin' reminds me of clown acts, and clown acts remind me of you!" I cried, laughing so hard I had to restrain the coughs that followed my racking lungs, trying to assure both myself and him that I was definitely right in calling him such a seemingly silly nickname.

The Joker said nothing, instead slowly turning his head to stare back at his plans, jaw set in place, flexing his neck. There was a moment of long-drawn silence where he stared blankly at the page, his face a clean canvas, ready to paint emotion and schemes across it and exaggerate his features. Usually, he liked to draw out the moment- he always claimed that he could taste tension as if it were a three-course banquet. Suiting for the prince of crime, I figured. However, the anticipated moment came sooner than expected.

"Eureka!" He shrieked, clicking his fingers and spinning to face me. Surprised and unnerved, I stepped back; I knew that he was intending to involve me in whatever evil doing he had concocted in his mind, and with a flurry of emotions, I felt panic foremost.

He stalked slowly towards me, cocking his head to one side as he _studied_ me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed, literally sore from his intense gaze alone. His eyes swept slowly and leisurely over my features, seeming to calculate something, before his grin widened and set in place.

He lunged forward, locked his fingers around my scarred wrist and pulled me into his chest. I cried out before sighing and feeling the strange, feminine, adolescent feeling of complete adoration over the man who held me so tightly in an embrace, even if it didn't feel as much as an embrace as it did a kinder version of a death grip, a sour constriction of my physicality until the breath bled out of me and spilled into the air like a toxin.

"I know it's only been one day, but I'm sure you are as excited and eager as _I_ am to unveil you to the public. You will accompany me to the ball and wear your best dress." He declared. I squealed and clapped my hands, despite his grip; in my books, it was equivalent to a million dollars.

"But wait; how am I supposed to get a dress? I don't have any clothes as it is!" He paused for a moment, before he dragged me out of his bedroom to beside him, arm around my waist, fists clenched into the skin like hooks at my hip as we walked into the main room. #The circle of henchmen immediately brought their sole focus to The Joker and I. Mr J let go of me and pranced over to the table, skipping around the outside of the circle. He patted the head of each one, singing, "Duck, duck, duck…" He circled the table three times before tapping Lucas and Bill on the heads, exclaiming "goose," for them both.

Lucas was double my size and at least a half-human taller than me. I was certain that his fists were larger than my head, and he constantly wore an expression of anger on his face, even when the atmosphere surrounding him appeared to be tranquil. Bill was the same height as me but still well-built; he was more intelligent and eloquent than Lucas, and smiled far more.

I would come to discover more about them as time progressed; Bill would always tell the jokes, and Lucas would always allow a small smirk. Bill would tell Lucas little interesting facts and Lucas would note them down and store them away to use them sometime. Lucas would always shoot at enemies first, as he knew Bill was slightly weaker. Bill would follow Lucas' protection with a snide comment to the threat imposed upon them, like any classy Bond villain would.

Not to mention the way they looked at each other; it reminded me of when I'd visit the local zoo using what little money I could scrape from doing my neighbour's dirty work. I would sit and watch the zookeepers feed the lions, and the feral look they had when they were about to eat the carcasses of their prey was an exact replica of what I watched happen between Lucas and Bill. If their descriptions of each other and their relationship were put into elegant prose, I'd be underlining the subtext and highlighting it with rainbow colours.

However, initially, distrust swirled in my belly at the thought of being left alone with the two of them, if that was what The Joker was building up to. I trusted Bill slightly more, but given their track records, they were both equally as bad; there was a reason they'd survived the Joker's company for so long.

"Bob- I mean, Bill, and Lucas, you are to accompany Harley into the heart of Gotham and help her purchase a dress. She can sort out where and what to buy, but protect her identity from being discovered, and keep her out of harm's way. She may prove to be useful someday." The Joker told them. My heart fluttered at the compliment, only to be trumped a second later when Lucas sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Boss, I don't know if I want to be seen in any dress shop; I'm a big guy now and I don't shop with my-"

The Joker cut him off when he sprang at the huge man and held him by the collar, forcing him to look him in the eye, despite him being bigger than the Joker. Fear coursed through me, spurring a second wave of delight to follow its fiery path. I chewed on my lip as a way of containing myself.

"You are under my authority. You will do as I say. Got it?" He growled. Lucas nodded silently, glaring with as much ferocious intent as he seemed to muster. The Joker grinned coldly, before releasing him and sniffed, brushing his jacket down as if he'd handled vermin, or come into contact with a contagious disease. I felt a pang of jealousy that Lucas was being held like that, when not so long ago, it was me being held that way against the wall in the Joker's bedroom. _Except with significantly less clothes, of course,_ I reminded myself.

However, my unruly emotions were subdued when the object of my constant fascination proceeded to fish out a gun from his coat pocket and approach me with it.

He raised the gun point to my cheek and stroked the cold metal along my skin, causing goose bumps to rise and an involuntary shiver to roll along my spine. My eyelids fluttered and I tilted my head back slightly, letting him know that pleasure was the only thrill I felt at having him press a gun to my skin. The Joker leered as he then took my hand with less force than he had done before and curled my fingers around the gun for me.

"To protect that pretty face of yours," He explained. "Take her to whatever shop she suggests. And I want her back here by mid-afternoon. Don't return if she isn't with you."

I sighed happily and blushed before admiring the pistol I gripped in my palm, fingers curled over the handle as my thumb pad stroked its hot metal, warmth originating from where its owner had clasped it to my face.

Lucas and Bill began storming out of the door, and I jogged up to them and followed them out of the warehouse and into the daylight, fresh air filling my senses and spreading my lips into a wide grin. I followed them to a decent Mercedes model in a jet black colour parked up along the alley. _How did I not see that last night? _I wondered, eyebrows furrowing as Bill opened the backseat door to let me slide in and position myself on the cool leather of the seat, hugging my body. I thanked him quietly as he passed me a credit card. He told me the pin number and that it contained twelve thousand dollars. I didn't dare ask where that amount of money had come from, or whose credit card it was beforehand. The look on his face suggested that I didn't want to know, despite my usual morbid curiosity with everything.

"Where are we going, then?" Lucas asked, impatience clear in his tone.

"Maxine's Dresses. I don't know the postcode, sorry." I said, but relaxed when Bill pulled out a GPS system, tapped in the name of the shop I gave him, and Lucas proceeded to follow the directions given. Before long, I began to recognise the straighter roads of the inner-city, my old home.

"This the place?" Lucas snapped grumpily. I murmured a simple confirmation as I recognised the shop from when I was a teenager, when I used to stare longingly at the displays, dreaming about the day I'd get to wear one of the beautiful wedding dresses they owned. They parked and exited the car, and I followed their suit, before jogging ahead to leading the way and having them walk behind me protectively, just like a celebrity and their bodyguards.

I pulled on a pair of sunglasses from my handbag and zipped up the hoodie I'd grabbed from the coat hook on my way out of the warehouse, pulling the hood up to cover my bright hair.

I hoped the disguise would be strong enough to evade anyone who might recognise me, in case my disappearance had been noted by newspapers and was spreading.

I knew I would have been reported as missing, and in a local area, there was bound to be a search party. As I entered, I chuckled at the irony of having two of the most gruff, masculine men I'd ever met in my life accompany me into an elegant dress shop. There was nothing wrong in my mind with men that liked dresses of course, but given earlier they had been swigging alcohol and puffing several illegal substances, the idea of them escorting someone into a dress shop that even admitted to catering to "elegant women" in the slogan appealed to my quirky sense of humour. It was with a tiny fall from humour that I realised that my sense of humour was slowly becoming more and more strange and elite over time; I refused to connect the Joker-shaped dots as to why that was.

My eyes swept over the dress selections and displays, and I was beginning to feel disappointed at all the pale, cream colours that screamed boredom, when at last I spotted something that made my heart beat impossibly fast, a gasp of pure delight escaping my lips.

The dress that caught my eye held a bust which consisted of a tight, constricting corset, for accentuating my curves. The skirt flowed down as loose as a river or stream to sweep the floor with grace whilst quietly demanding attention, a silent demand of authority. There was a subtle but beautiful contrast between the harsh, held-together appearance of the corset against the loose stream of chiffon from the waist to the floor.

The underlay of the skirt was a rich, deep black, but a second, thin, translucent fabric covered it in a deep red, similar to my costume's colour scheme. The corset was black with red laces and red ridges, the ridges being the steel bones to make the corset waist-reducing. The red darkened and became more prominent from black towards the bottom, giving it the impression of red running down the dress' entire length, like blood, pooling at the bottom of the dress.

It was perfect, and I instantly fell in love with it. I trotted up to the mannequin on which the dress was displayed and picked the bagged dress in my size, before running into the dressing rooms, barely able to contain my glee, forgetting the henchmen were even with me. The only things in the room that mattered were me and the dress.

I almost tore at my clothes, desperate to get them off, fingernails not even lingering over the various marks The Joker had decorated on my skin with animalistic desire only hours before. I slipped the dress on but left the corset untied; I'd need help with that and I didn't fancy further mortifying my bodyguards with such a task. I turned and twisted into every possible posing angle by the mirror, and decided that The Joker would never be able to resist me in it. With the makeup and the hair done to perfection, I'd look a villain suitable for the clown prince of crime.

After several more minutes of self-indulgent admiration, I reluctantly took the dress off and zipped it back into its protective bag, as I slipped on my clothes again, remembering to zip up the hoodie. I thought it would be best to reserve the corset for the Joker, even though I knew that at some point I'd have to face the world in my costume, not just Mr J and his boys. _Confidence, Harley_, I assured myself. _You need to work on your confidence is all. _I threw open the dressing room curtains and dumped the sealed bag in Lucas' arms, knowing he'd be even more antagonised by the fact he was being belittled and could do nothing about it except curl his lip and glance helplessly to his lover- I mean, "_friend"_, Bill.

"Shoes." I said, before strutting ahead to the shoe section, feeling like a queen. After briefly studying rows upon rows of different styles, heights and colours, I settled on a pair of black heels that weren't too high, but still made the pleasing, potent sound of clicking on hard floors. I needed to be able to feel as good as I looked, and I couldn't think of a better feeling than wearing high-heeled shoes.

"Okay, now I'm done. Let's get back… home." I said with reluctance, still unsure of calling the warehouse my "home". I figured that home was wherever my heart wanted to be, and I knew that it would always be where the Joker was, as childish and lovey-dovey as it sounded.

Whilst the cashier swiped my card and bagged my purchase properly, she started to peer at me, brown eyes darting up to scrutinise me every ten seconds or so and in between every action she made, from swiping to bagging to packaging. _Shit, she looks like she's onto something. _I readied myself and quickly thought of ways to subdue her long enough to permanently silence her, as a more delicate term for the dark thoughts invading my mind, the gun weighing heavier than before as it sat in my hoodie's pocket.

"Excuse me for asking, but are you famous?" The cashier asked, flicking her fringe out of her face to let her chocolate eyes sweep properly over my scruffy form, whilst gesturing to Lucas and Bill who stood right behind me, arms folded, no doubt a fearsome look on their faces. It made sense for her to reach that conclusion, and I couldn't help but smirk a little.

I slotted my card back into my makeshift purse and took the bag, before shrugging and tipping my head forward to look over my sunglasses that perched at the edge of my nose, peering at the confused woman. I winked at her, enjoying myself far too much. I was exactly replicating the Joker's love for theatrical flourish, making the most out of every game he played. Here I was, making the most out of my own.

"I will be. Very, very soon." I said ominously, before tipping my head back and sliding my sunglasses up my nose to hide my eyes again. With that, I clicked my fingers at my protectors and began to stride confidently from the shop with my purchases in hand, feeling the presence of Lucas and Bill right by my back, their natural body heat invading my skin. _Oh Mr J, if only you'd seen that,_ I thought. I just knew he'd be proud of me, and that's all I could ever dream for.

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**See you on Friday! **


	19. Chapter 19

**Again, thank you so much for the positive reviews! I do so appreciate them.**

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**Chapter 19: But I'm The Only One Who's Gonna Save Your Life**

If I had to choose one thing that annoyed me the most, at that current moment, it would have been a loose corset. As I hummed a random tune, prancing into the main room, I could feel the flaps of my corset flapping and lashing about behind me, the ties loose and catching my eye when they happened to drift in front of me. It was starting to grate my nerves raw. I slowed to a stop and began padding into the kitchen to withdraw a cigarette from where I had since learnt they were stashed.

"Any of you boys seen Mr J?" I called out, making some of the henchmen playing cards jump, the sound of rigid cards clattering to the table pooling into the cool air of the large warehouse. I silently thanked my petite figure for being so quiet and agile; it never failed to take the buff, tall henchmen by surprise. Bill shook his head and began fixating on my corset, causing a blush to rise to my freshly repainted cheeks. If he was a cartoon character, his eyes would be stretching out across the room to press against my corset.

"Last I heard he was out on a private deal with ." Bill finally answered, dragging his gaze to meet mine as if it were a chore. I felt a pang of anxiety rocket through me; why didn't he let me come with him? Why didn't he tell me where he was going? Is he going to leave me? The youngest of the group, Jordan, began shaking his head frantically, as if my worry was a cloud that he could see clearly drift across the room. I snorted in half-hearted amusement as his useless mop of dark hair flopped continuously into his eyes, making him look confused, bedraggled and bug-eyed.

"Aw Harley it's okay, he said he'd be back in an hour!" I flashed him my teeth with a wide grin worthy of the Joker; Jordan was my favourite henchman. He was barely eighteen and new to the job, had dark curly hair that bounced around his head in erratic directions, and had bright blue eyes that seemed to pop out of his face.

He looked so innocent that it gave me pure, sick joy to think about how corrupted he'd end up. I saw a lot of myself in the naïve kid, and in the space of only a day and a few hours, I'd become quite attached to him. He was funny and sweet, and provided entertainment when the Joker was busy or uninterested in my undivided attention to him.

"Thanks, Jordan. Could you tie up my corset for me? I'd ask the boss, but since he's out-"

"-Yes!" Jordan cried, leaping animatedly from his seat and practically sprinting the few small steps it took to reach me. Since I'd first been introduced to him, he'd made it fairly obvious that he had a typical schoolboy crush on me; the not-so-stolen glances and blushing and talking about me constantly gave it away.

I didn't try to push him away for it - I was almost flattered by the positive attention; Mr J couldn't always give me that kind of attention, so from the vain corner of my mind, it was nice to still receive it from someone. Although I liked to pretend I wouldn't use Jordan so selfishly, I couldn't help but think about how wonderfully convenient he was; when the time came, he would prove to be particularly useful in proving how protective the Joker could be over me. With the right push, Mr J would make his ownership over me pretty clear.

Jordan blushed when I presented myself to him, pushing my chest out a little as I turned to face him as he stood before me, hands rigid by his sides- he clearly had no idea what to do. The delicate blush painting his cheeks illuminated his freckles clustered across his cheeks and I giggled softly, feeling a pang of sentimentality over my own adolescence when I acted exactly the same over some insignificant bratty teenage boy.

"Don't be shy, hon. Loop the ties through the holes in a zigzag pattern, like you would with your shoes." I instructed, pointing with my head to the Vans shoes he wore. When he nodded, I turned around so he could do up my corset.

"O-okay…" He mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows as his slender fingers began looping through the holes. As I realised how intimate the whole affair might look to others, I silently hoped that The Joker would keep his word and not return to see such a sight take place in the kitchen; neither of us would have time to explain before Jordan's throat would likely be slain, and I'd be banished to his room, likely to never be seen again.

"Freddy, what time do we set off?" I called out as Jordan continued to shakily tie my laces, causing continuous sniggers to roll from my painted lips.

"I dunno, but we're meant to be there at 9," the henchman said, his rugged, aged accent making the words curl over each other, thick like syrup. "It's 8 already."

"Crap." I murmured, returning my attention to my corset, which was now tied up. It was tight enough to make me stand straighter, but not so tight as to constrict my breathing completely. I wasn't in the habit of fainting every five minutes. The corset made me feel empowered, and I blinked slowly and leisurely at the royal feeling I was delivered with the simple wearing of the corset.

"Thanks, Jordan!" He nodded in reply and plodded back to his space around the table, immediately accusing Danny of having replaced some of the cards in his deck. Laughter erupted around the table and I gritted my teeth, their laughs reminding me of barking dogs, rabid with hunger or lack of attention.

That observation reminded me of one of the many bizarre questions I came up in the dead of night with when the moonlight shone through the Joker's window, as I clasped to his pale form and failed to sleep, splintered thoughts of darkness constantly turning in my mind, sounding like huge, grating cogs that almost shattered my eardrums every night. I never knew insanity could be so _noisy_.

"Say, don't you ever fancy getting some pets around the place? Like guard dogs or something?" I asked, out of curiosity, striding forward and smiling as my heels made the pleasing sound on the concrete floor, rattling around the room. I leaned across the counter I'd cleaned earlier that day, confident nothing could stain my dress due to the thorough job I'd made of cleaning the surface of grime and filth. I propped myself up on my elbows as my chest pressed on the counter, conveying to the boys that they had my attention.

"Nah- who needs pets?" Someone answered. I didn't care who it was; they were all the same to me.

"They could be useful," I argued mildly. "I always wanted a dog when I was a kid. I have a few names in mind for one. Like Bud… or Lou!" I squealed, excited by the idea of having an animal for a companion to care for when Mr J wasn't around. Then, when he came home from his various jobs, he'd take off his coat, yell "Harley, I'm home!" and laugh as the dog ran up to lick him, before he'd clasp me in his arms and passionately press his lips to mine, need and longing invading the space between us.

My steady-approaching daydream was cut off when the sliding sound of the metal front door shattered through the thin screen my mind had created, playing events that had never happened before and were merely a domestic fantasy.

I stood up straight from the counter as The Joker stepped through the door, and my jaw dropped. His green hair was slicked back, his usually messy makeup was perfected and precisely applied, but most importantly, he wore a tuxedo. I smirked at how absolutely incredibly attractive he looked, to the point that I felt ill with how much attraction I felt towards him. We were two magnets, and with the sharp dark suit contrasted against his cool, white features and vibrant green hair, the magnetism only increased. Sensing my totally obvious staring, he raised an eyebrow at me, before his lips curled into a pleased grin at me as he slowly turned to the henchmen gathered at the table as before.

"You boys ready?" He asked, to which they all rose to their feet with the clatter and screech of wooden chairs and began talking hastily amongst each other, wary glances to the boss and to each other. I finally experienced for the first time what the men had already felt a hundred times over; the jittery anticipation of the event forthcoming, the inevitable bets on who would make it, who wouldn't.

Excitement, delight and anticipation scratched at my belly, anxious butterflies just dying to burst from my skin and cloud into the room, swarming and choking to death everyone in its path.

"Danny, Lucas, you two will take me and Harley in the Mercedes. The rest of you, organise yourselves and follow up, about five minutes after us. Got it? Let's roll." He said, laughing and whistling an unfamiliar tune as he skipped back out the door. I jogged as fast as my heels could go after my well-suited boyfriend, and finally caught up to him in the car. It felt pleasantly strange to call the object of my desires my "boyfriend", since he wasn't the conventional type you'd bring home to your parents, at least.

"Ladies first…" He said, opening the door and tipping his head towards the car, inviting me to climb in first much to my flushed delight. As I bent over to climb in, he laughed uproariously again and pushed in front, sliding along my chest and climbing across to his seat, purely to inconvenience me.

"… But men just before!" He cried as he buckled himself in, fingers gliding confidently over his seatbelt. I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at the man who now grinned viciously at me, before clambering in after him and buckling up. As the car rumbled beneath my feet into life and set off for the centre of Gotham where the charity gala was being held, I turned to stare peacefully out of the window, content to be sat beside the Joker as I contemplated the night ahead.

After a while, the knife secured to my garter strap began to burn at my skin for some unknown reason, causing me to repeatedly shift in the seat and chew my lip; it was uncomfortable to say the least. As the blade was concealed by my dress and strapped to my bare leg, I assumed that the temperature of my bare skin was warming up the knife and subsequently burning my skin, becoming a vicious and irritating cycle. From my peripheral vision, I watched The Joker turn to face me, agitation setting his jaw aside from its usual grin.

"If you shift again, you'll hit the millionth time mark, _dear_." He purred, threat in his tremulous tone; his excitement for the events ahead still couldn't be quenched completely, but he made sure to let me know that I was definitely pissing on his parade.

"Oh I'm so sorry, puddin'! My knife is burning my leg." I explained, sighing heavily as I realised how strange the situation sounded when the words left my mouth, fleeing the security that my brain presented. He turned away silently, disinterest clear. I internally chastised myself for boring him; his lack of interest wasn't what I strived to achieve. A moment of awkward silence was thankfully soon penetrated by the Joker's faultless ego, undoubtedly having forgotten what had taken place only moments ago. In some ways, I was thankful that his emotions were easily swayed.

"Tell me, how do I look? Do I look as dashing as always?" He asked, voice rich with pride that some would mistake as arrogance. I seized the opportunity to please him quicker than a predator stole its prey; I again noticed just how utterly desperate I was becoming to gain his happiness. I acted starved of it, always craving more than I had. In retrospect, it probably came off as quite unhealthy, but it felt good to me and he liked it, so that was all that mattered.

"You look great, puddin'! Really great! Incredible, actually…" I trailed off, beginning to lose myself, returning to the reverie that had captured me the first time around. His black suit was crisp and tailored to his form perfectly, not too loose but not too tight either; a perfect fit. A royal purple boutonniere was pinned to his lapel, and I noted how it gave the mysterious appearance of the beginning stages of decay- the edges were folding and wilting; a perfect representation of my Joker's personality and how he desired the abstract.

There was something about his makeup- either it was freshly bought or he'd put more on than usual- but it made him look more vibrant and alive than I had ever seen him, in Arkham, at the warehouse or even on news reports.

My glance slowly trailed to his painted lips, already able to feel their ghosts dance across my lips, not-so-distant memories plaguing me in all the right ways. I bit my own lip firmly as I began to imagine those lips on my own, leaving indelicate painted blemishes on my skin, the colours of purple, red, black and violence and passion…

My thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of the car engine stuttering and shuddering to a halt. I dragged my eyes unwillingly from The Joker who still stared at me, and looked out of my window. We had arrived at the hall. The Joker swiftly unbuckled himself and exited the car, and I did the same, eyes never leaving our destination.

The building was impressive in size, but what caught my attention was the colours that illuminated from the inside, and the lights stationed outside that swam over the brickwork and transformed it into a multi-coloured plasmatic building, lighting up my eyes with swarms of bright colours. I began to skip and tug at Mr J's arm, urging him to hurry up. He chuckled and lazily swung an arm over my shoulders, pulling me right into him until I could barely breathe. He traced a finger under my chin, bringing my face to his direction.

"Harley, Harley, Harley… You must remember, my sweet, that whilst you're not yet known, I am. They won't let us in through the entrance, so we have to find our own way and be a little spontaneous." He said, a hint of impatience lacing his tone- however, I was too slow to pick up on it. I pouted with my own impatience, when the same hand whose finger had traced my chin so softly then sharply slapped my cheek, the familiar stinging sensation bubbling to the surface of my skin, making my face tingle with pain like tiny needles jabbing repeatedly into my pores.

"Don't be so impatient Harley." He released my shoulder from his grip, leaving me to hold my cool hand to my stinging cheek as I watched The Joker point to the two henchmen that had accompanied us and then point in front, signalling for them to go ahead. I heard the metallic snap of guns being loaded and watched the boys tuck their weapons on the inside of their jackets. They hadn't changed their clothes so much, only thrown old tuxedo jackets over their regular plain black shirts and old jeans.

The Joker passed them two clown masks and sent them on their way. As I felt the imminent threat and sense of danger, I began to wonder who and what would be lost at the intervention of the gala. Such a large mass of people wouldn't bode well, and I knew there would be loss of lives. In a moment of extreme doubt, my mind began to spin a memory as if it were an old record. I was back in my office, three days after the Joker had escaped. Batman had snuck into the area where I dwelled, and made the "honourable decision" to warn me of the Joker's motives.

"I had managed to ask what caused him to talk about you so much, to which he replied that you were a new toy," he had warned me. "Just be careful out there," he had said. I laughed bitterly at his useless warnings; the Joker had already claimed me long before Batman even had me on his radar. That moment of doubt paired up with the memory of the Dark Knight's warning made me falter just a step; not enough for the Joker to notice, but enough for my self-awareness to take interest and make me feel even worse. Would I die tonight? Was the Joker already fed up of his "toy"? I wasn't sure I wanted to wait around and find out. As the doubt began to set my bones still and make me grimace, the Joker turned to look me in the eye again, emerald clashing with azure in a fierce battle of what was to him a challenge, but to me, exquisite passion.

"Remember what I told ya when we first broke out of Arkham, doll?" He murmured, eyes breaking our lock down only briefly to glance at the henchmen, making sure they couldn't hear him.

"You told me to relax." I replied with loyalty, not wanting to embarrass myself or disappoint him as I carried on striding beside him, doubt already washing away with each step I took, his body pressed to the side of mine. It was comforting to know he existed, and he was beside me.

"I told you to relax, toots. I said that you're with me, and that I'm the worst thing around here, and everywhere else in fact." He reminded me with a sly grin, his spare hand trailing a slow, deliberate arc under my chin. The only way I could tell it held just a hint of harshness was in how hard he pressed the pads of his fingers to my skin; however, he also knew from previous experience how comforted I was by it, so the harshness was almost cancelled out by my own knowledge of his knowledge. My heart swelled and I was sure it would burst for the love I felt for Mr J. He had remembered what he'd first told me, and had remembered how to comfort me; it was one of the most romantic gestures I'd ever seen, and he probably didn't even know how romantic it was, if at all.

"So stop being a _girl's blouse_ and focus, okay? You'll do great, lil' Harley Quinn." With those words, I knew that I would never, _could_ never, walk away from him. I passed over all the reigns to him, signalling control; he truly owned all of me now. I could never abandon him and what we had together, not when he'd shown me so much about the world.

No matter the cost of anyone's life, the danger or threat presented, I would never abandon him. I was utterly his toy, and it was time to perform to scratch. I grinned widely, lips cracking with the utter joy I felt, leaving the cloud of doubt behind to plague someone else. He'd freed me yet again.

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**See you on Tuesday!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Note: I am going to a gig on Friday and therefore will not be by my laptop for the entire day. It's unlikely I'll get the next installment (we're not far from the end now, guys!) uploaded before Friday, and certainly not on Friday. I hope you can forgive me if I upload it on Saturday! Thank you for your kindness. 3**

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**Chapter 20: I'm A Slap In The Face To Your Lullaby**

As the henchmen walked off to stand in front of the alleyway beside the hall, the Joker and I followed them but carried on through it until we were roughly halfway along the alley. We looked around for an entrance, the late evening's darkness making anyway of entering the hall seem invisible. The Joker's movements were becoming more sharp and violent, meaning he was becoming impatient. I sighed in relief when I spotted a ladder on the wall of the alleyway, the wall opposite the hall. I realised that the building that formed the other half of the alleyway next to the hall was in fact an apartment building.

"Roof?" I proposed, to which the Joker stood still and followed my line of sight, nodding in approval. He raced ahead, immediately climbing up the ladder, whilst I followed behind, gripping tightly at the cranky metal as I took frail, hesitant steps. The metal creaked and clanked as I moved, clearly under strain from years of use- it was slightly terrifying and far too deadly.

By the time we reached the top of the ladder, I was thankful to still be in one piece. I was convinced I wouldn't make it whilst climbing up the crooked contraption. The wind was icier and stronger at the top and whipped viciously at my skin, but I was too busy staring at the stars, the twinkling clusters holding my attention locked in place, mouth agape in wonder.

"Wow…" I breathed. I loved stargazing when I was younger and needed to escape for a while, but I'd never taken the time out of my busy life when I had set my career up at Arkham to perch somewhere lofty and stare up at the night sky, reminding myself of what I used to be and do and how far I'd come since then.

It showed me that the moment I spent my newfound freedom with The Joker, I'd accomplished so much more than I had my entire time as an adult before then. Before the constellations became my eyes, I reminded myself that I wasn't on the roof to stare at stars; I had a job to do. When I turned to look at The Joker, I realised with a furious blush that he was staring at me with expectance, waiting for me to pay attention to him again. The fact that he hadn't interrupted my dreamy reverie directly proved that he was hoping I'd learn for myself when it was inappropriate to become distracted whilst working.

He then looked pointedly over to the edge of the roof, and my heart sank in my chest. The gap between the building we stood on and the hall's roof was far too wide to jump across. Physics and biology would never allow it. I heard his intelligible grumbling as he paced along the edge, and I felt flares of panic as the wind lashed at his jacket. One gust too strong, and he'd plummet to his demise.

"Puddin', please stay back from the edge!" I cried. He ignored me, still pacing restlessly. I sighed, turning my head away as if to deny the whole situation, denying that the Joker's life was in the hands of nature. Suddenly, my eyes caught a glint of the moonlight reflecting on a swaying metal object. My attention focused, and an idea formed in my mind. A large, sturdy metal chain had come loose from the telephone antenna that was perched at the edge of the roof and was long enough to swing us across, like Tarzan did. _Tarzan and Jane_, I couldn't help but swoon, even in the heat of the moment.

"Mr J, Mr J!" He whipped around, demanding what my problem was. I meekly pointed at the chain, and he began to cackle. The cackle became a full, screaming laugh as he stalked towards the chain, tested it with a yank, and then curled his hands around it with utter confidence.

"Now you're talking." He murmured as he wrapped the chain through his legs and linked the end to his hand that was clasping the chain already, so it was extra secure. Nervously, I walked up to him.

"I won't be able to do it, puddin'- I don't have the strength and muscle you do." I fretted. With an aggravated sigh, he waved me impatiently closer, before clasping his free arm around my waist. I squealed and wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my head in his chest. Suddenly, without a word of warning, he launched us off the edge, propelling us across.

"You're a wuss!" The Joker cried as we swung.

My screams were cut off by the sharp movement through the air, as I felt the bracing air whip through my hair and lash at my bare skin, my dress trailing behind me in a flurry of chiffon. Even holding onto the Joker did little to comfort my fear of death. When we reached the other side, he let go of the chain and together we landed in a heap on the hall's roof, with myself perched on top of him. Despite everything, the first thought that crossed my mind was how last time we'd sat in that position, there were significantly less clothes involved.

"Get off," He growled, pushing me off of his torso. I scuffed my skin on the cold concrete floor and winced, groaning as I pushed myself onto my back, trying to steady my erratic breathing. "I'm probably partially deaf now, you useless broad." I rolled my eyes at his complaints as I watched him pick himself up off the floor, and I followed suit.

"I'm _so_ sorry." I snapped with bitter sarcasm, brushing down my dress and fixing my pigtails with fumbling fingers. I felt like I was presentable enough; besides, messy was a fair enough representation of my life. I strode over to where he now stood, at the centre of the roof, and my mouth fell open to see that there was a huge rectangle of thin glass embedded into the roof's concrete, roughly the size of a car, or small van. I guessed it was so those in the hall could look up at the night sky whilst enjoying their various celebrations, but it also served other useful purposes for the less innocent of heart, namely myself and the Joker.

"Perfect!" He laughed, immediately forgetting his latest ill-temper towards me. He pulled out his phone from inside his jacket and dialled, slapping it to his ear as he began to skip around in joy, waiting for the receiver to pick up.

"Yes. Operation is a go. Have fun, boys!" He continued to howl with laughter as he re-pocketed his phone, running right to the edge. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of him stepping too close and falling. He cocked his head to the edge as a gesture for me to look with him, and so I gratefully complied, relieved he was no longer angry at me again. I walked slower than he had, being careful and deliberate so as to not plummet to my own death. When I joined him by his side, I finally managed to place where the henchmen were; I hadn't seen them since the Joker and I had left the warehouse in the Mercedes.

We watched as the second car with the other henchmen inside pulled up behind the Mercedes. The henchmen immediately left the car and set to work dragging unrecognisable implements out of the car and along the street to the building, and disappearing from our view.

The Joker looked up at me, and I stared back, wondering what he was thinking, and what he wanted of me now. His face was void of emotion, totally blank, which was far more disconcerting than any emotion he could display. Without a word, he returned to the glass window in the roof, with me eagerly trotting at his heel. My eyes widened as I heard the strangled, muffled screams of the crowds attending the gala, now under attack from the henchmen. Gunshots sounded and I winced, praying to deities I didn't believe in that none of them would shoot at the ceiling; I didn't fancy much being shot at from below.

When we were both back at the glass, he simply nodded to me, a grin stretching over his face at last- he was clearly ready for whatever he was going to do.

_Oh God_, I panicked. _He never told me anything! What does he want me to do? _If I asked him, I'd no doubt anger him again, and I didn't want that. My heart rate accelerated, as I continued to stress over what I wanted to do, and what he wanted me to do.

_Fuck it, Harley. Just do what you want. I bet you're right with what it is anyway. _Acting on instinct, I plunged my dangerously sharp shoe-heel several times into the corner of the glass, and grinned wickedly as the entire rectangle shattered, glass pieces falling through into the gala like snow, glittering and refracting the light like sparkles.

The Joker whooped with delight as he pulled out a grapple hook from inside his jacket- _how did he manage to hide that? It's so obvious_- and hooked the end to a secure edge of the building, before again inviting me to perch on his lap. I cried in delight and wrapped my legs around him as he curled one arm around my waist, to the point where I could barely breathe.

"Remember," he said as we slowly descended to the ballroom floor, the screams and panic of the gala-goers becoming louder and louder at the ruckus the henchmen were stirring up, "It's all about first impressions. If you give off the right vibe, they'll be terrified of you. Follow my lead and do what you please. The main reason I'm doing this today is for you."

"Really?"

"Well… mostly." He amended. With that, we reached the bottom, where the audience who had seen us descending had parted and subsequently cleared a space large enough to be a stage, our own theatre-in-the-round. The crowd had been herded, with armed henchmen guarding all the exits and shooting dead anyone who tried to escape- evidence of this was the mound of dead bodies strewn across the marble floor near the exits, expressions of horror still painting their slowly-cooling faces.

I immediately set to work as I let go of the Joker, fighting the hint of reluctance towards releasing his form, withdrawing the blade from my leg-strap and snatching a random female civilian from the crowd and pulling her to me, holding the knife to her throat. She began to scream and thrash about, and as a warning, I nicked at her neck a little with the blade, allowing a bead of blood to trickle down the skin of her neck.

"Shut up and listen," I hissed, a grin slowly beginning to twitch at my lips as I watched her flinch away from me, tears of pain and terror brimming in her eyes. The Joker stepped up onto the podium where guest speakers were supposed to speak, and cleared his throat into the microphone for dramatic effect. _My puddin'_, I swooned. _Always the performer_.

"Hello, ladies and gentleman. Do forgive the rather _rude_ interruption… I just stopped by to steal the charity money, and I'll be on my way! And since we're all gathered nice and cosily, there's someone I'd like you to meet." The Joker nodded to me, and so with a hint of anticipation I smiled and stepped into the centre of the circle, the victim still in my imprisonment, my knife still to her throat. I was directly below the Joker's podium, hoping it would symbolise my utter loyalty to him, showing that he was my mentor and that I was going to follow him anywhere and everywhere.

"Pleased to meetcha! I'm Harley Quinn, the Joker's fearsome girl and new badass in town. Remember my name, 'cause you'll be seeing me in the papers a lot from now on!" I felt a tiny bit awkward being so dramatic when Mr J was so silent behind me, and seeing as I couldn't think what else to say, I curtsied. As I bent over, my arm twisted at an awkward angle and I accidentally slit my victim's throat.

With a strangled yelp, the useless woman slumped to the floor, wet crimson pooling across the marble from her delicate skin. When I stood up straight again, I simply shrugged; not a life I cared about, just another rich snob to bite the dust.

"Oops. What can you do?" I said, playing up to my part. The Joker was laughing his usual laugh with just a hint of something more- he was laughing so much that he couldn't speak; I was overcome with pride to know that I'd made him laugh with my act.

Before I could express any pride or emotion, I saw the familiar figured shadow of Batman swoop down from the glass rectangle the Joker and I had come from, and pass over the Joker's head, swooping him up by his collar and beginning to choke him, lifting him into the air.

"Shit." I uttered darkly. I ran up to the podium, at the edge of the steps. When the henchmen looked like they were about to start moving, I screamed at them all to stay in place, to which they reluctantly obliged, turning instead to face the crowd and threaten any that tried to rebel against them. Fingers curling over my knife, I prepared to stab Batman, who had his gloved fists tight around my Joker's neck.

"Harley, be a good girl, now. Don't do that." The Joker choked out, emerald eyes rolling to glare at me in fierce warning as I raised the blade. I raised an eyebrow, but had no time to do anything. Batman released his grip on the Joker and kicked my arm, with the intent of knocking the blade from my grasp. However, I'd prepared for that, and instead of the knife being knocked from my hand, my whole arm was kicked backwards behind me. I cried out in surprise when I felt the knife stab into something soft but hard at once- like a body.

Turning my head slowly, I realised that Jordan, the henchman, had ignored my orders and come to my aid.

I gasped in horror, watching his untimely fate unfold. Blood was seeping through his shirt, and he slumped to the floor, eyes cold and glassy, lips parted as if there were words meant to leave his lips that would linger there forever. Even Batman was staring, lips turned down in a frown. My blade clattered to the floor as I kneeled by Jordan, knowing that The Joker was back on his feet and would subdue Batman. My hair had come loose of their ponytails now, falling to frame my face. The blood I was trying to stifle from Jordan's chest coated my fingers, and when I brought them to my lips to cover my mouth in shock, the blood lingered over my lips; I could taste it. Those same blood-stained fingers gingerly closed the dead boy's eyes. I stood up slowly, spinning around to face Batman who had once again floored The Joker who was just laughing uselessly on the ground as the Dark Knight loomed above him.

"You son of a bitch. I was starting to like him." I said darkly. Batman made to say something, but The Joker kicked the backs of Batman's knees, causing him to fall down backwards. The Joker leapt to his feet, pulling me by my arm away from the scene, leaving the henchmen behind. The Joker ran past Rocko on the way, snatching the Mercedes keys from his back jean pocket.

"Boys, forget everyone else. Delay Batman. If you make it out alive, assure you're alone before coming back!" He called out, and I turned helplessly still in his grip and ran backwards to watch them swarm around Batman, as people screamed and ran like headless chickens in their ridiculous dozens.

"Come on!" The Joker urged impatiently, and I turned around as we ran out of the front entrance, across the deserted road and to the parked Mercedes.

"Hurry, before the cops show up!" He reminded me as we reached the car and scrambled in. I didn't bother strapping in as he tore away from the curb. He was a reckless driver, so I bit on my lip and closed my eyes, meaning forcing myself to replay what had happened. It had gone well, in some respects; Gotham knew my name and what I was capable of. But I felt tingly and alien over Jordan's death.

I saw myself in him, so killing him felt uncomfortable, deep under my skin- I felt like I'd betrayed him and myself at the same time. Also, I'd liked him most; he was the only one of the henchmen who leered at me in a nice way., and made me feel less of a statue and more of a person. As I stared out of the window into the black of night, watching the rain drizzle down the tinted window, I sighed at how useless I felt over my conflicted emotions. It was a quiet drive home.

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**See you _SATURDAY_! ;)**


	21. Chapter 21

**I'm back! I apologise if this is a little bit rough around the edges. Oh by the way, I changed my tumblr url because I'm having intense Bucky Barnes (from Captain America) feels after seeing The Winter Soldier. So my new tumblr's called .com. Please, go follow me or check it out if you want! 3 See you soon.**

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**Chapter 21: Don't You Dare Look At Him In The Eye**

I stumbled through the warehouse door, my eyes wide and lips parted, the events of the night leaving me in shock; I knew I was a hot mess. I'd stripped of my shoes and resorted to gripping them by the straps with my fingers' steely clutches, allowing them to swing and bump into each other as I padded along. The Joker loped along behind me, eerily quiet given his usual nature. I didn't dare look at him, for fear that I had disappointed him. No matter what I felt at that moment, above all else, I didn't want him to be disappointed in me.

"Harley," The Joker began, his voice as animated as ever. I slowly span on my heels to face him, eyes trained to the floor.

"If you're gonna stick with me, you need to learn that death is a big, big, _BIG_ part of my life. You're gonna deal with it _all_ the time. Don't get attached to anyone." Whilst he explained with his usual shifting pitch, he stalked slowly closer to me. When I still didn't look him in the eye, he sharply pulled my chin up so my gaze met his.

"Got it?" He demanded, lip curling tauntingly. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. I wasn't properly okay, and I'd need an hour to think it through and process my emotions, but by god I could act like I was fine; I'd done it a lot in the past. My eyes fluttered open and I spread my lips thinly to form a mischievous grin. Wondrously, forcing a smile seemed to work and soon it was close to genuine- after all, I did have some reason to smile; the Joker was prepared to keep me around.

"Oh I've got it, Mr J, don't you worry." He grinned and pecked me on the cheek, before trotting away like a schoolboy over to the kitchen, flicking on the stereo and tuning it finely, elegant gloved fingers twirling the tuner, clear that he knew what station he was after. When he reached it, he clapped his hands and skipped a few paces away from the radio, back towards me. The station presenter's voice sounded crackly and broken for a while, before it tuned itself properly.

"Now, a little bit of more obscure music for you fans out there. This is Breaking Benjamin with a classic hit of theirs, Dance with the Devil. Show it some love!" As the song's guitar kicked in and began to strum, The Joker prowled slowly towards me. It was, without a doubt or even a blush to cross my cheek, one of the most sexiest things I'd ever seen him do. The fact that it no longer bothered me to call him or his actions sexy was an indication of how serious I was about the entire thing- I was beginning to squirm a little under his gaze, burning at my skin. If I wasn't anticipating his next move, I'd be desperate to have at him and the beautiful suit he wore.

"Well, since you and I are both dressed up, I say we make up for what we didn't get at the gala. Fancy some fun, my sweet?" He invited, holding a hand out to me. Briefly forgetting everything but the fact that the most perfect man on Earth was inviting me to dance, I smiled and blushed as I took his hand delicately. He swiftly and violently twirled me into him, holding me so close I could only rasp, lungs desperately clawing for air. A flush of panic flooded through my veins as I listened to how swift the pace of the song was- I couldn't dance to slow music, let alone faster rock songs.

"I can't dance." I admitted breathlessly, biting my lip and squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment. The Joker chuckled, saying nothing. I felt a tiny sinking feeling when I reflected on his good spirits, as it showed that he was trying to appease me- meaning he was softening me up for another blow. Crazily though, I didn't mind so much- I'd bear with it all for a few moments of heaven. After all, it was whatever made him happy.

"Now that's where I come in handy, dear. I'm far too much of a narcissist to not have taken dancing in my time." His arm hooked firmly around my waist as he entwined his fingers with mine, before he gracefully dipped me backwards and pulled me up. We swayed, and then one foot at a time, began to twirl. We started slow so I could find my pace, and then gradually sped up until we could almost pass as "normal". Finally settled enough to relax, I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, pressing my cleavage to his toned chest. He raised an eyebrow but mashed his lips tightly together to form a firm line that even then, still curled up to a slight smile at the edges. I giggled softly, doe eyes staring deep into his, my vision tinted rosy with pure adoration.

We span and danced for what felt like an eternity, entirely hyperaware of our skin on each other's. Finally, as the song reached its climax, he dipped me down again, placing a feathery kiss on her neck. I closed my eyes in bliss but then yelled out when the kiss became a bloodthirsty bite at my flesh, pain flushing through my veins and burning, searing through until I thought my veins would burst beneath their pale shields. He laughed into the soft skin of my neck as I pulled myself up straight, his unusually dark, hungry eyes fixed on me. The bite was a reminder that he would always be in control, and it put me in my place- I didn't mind the gesture. I had already accepted that I was his and his alone, a long time ago, when I realised how cracked and ruined my mind was. _A broken toy._

"You're in a good mood," I commented as the song finished and the presenter began to speak up again. The Joker nodded, licking his lips as he pranced over to the stereo and threw it off the side, silencing the blaring music with an ear-splittingly loud shatter of plastic and metal on concrete ground.

"What can I say? Tonight went well." He shrugged. Had it? I didn't agree. After all, none of us achieved anything we had set out to accomplish, and in the process may have lost all of the henchmen. I cocked an eyebrow, hoping it'd convey to him that I disagreed, without trying to cause conflict. His head cocked back to take more of me in, eyebrows cocking as well, ready to snap at me. All attempts at romance were beginning to slip through my fingers like sand, and I could only silently scream into the void in which the grains of sand disappeared into, clawing desperately within the loosened confines of my mind for their return. I didn't want what we had to leave.

"Why Harley, it looks as if you don't agree." He pointed out, to which I nodded and tilted my head, hoping I wasn't about to anger him further, sensing the black clouds of anger rolling into the room. The fear of my realisation that I had yet to see him at his angriest kept my tone reserved, and hopeful to avoid a fight.

"Well, I don't! We didn't get the money, we may have lost all our henchmen-" I was ferociously cut off by a gloved hand cutting me across the face, sending a shocked, hitched gasp erupting from my lips. He began to laugh with vicious undertone, each peal reminding me of a Hyena, an animal I'd always loved. Despite the fact he'd just slapped me around the face, I figured I probably deserved it. _I was rude_, I reasoned.

"_We_ may have lost all _our_ henchmen? Since when did you dictate yourself above those dogs?" He spat, shadow looming over me as I walked backwards until I felt the lower cut of my back press against the cold stone of the wall. His teeth bared into a feral snarl, body visibly trembling with anger. _Talk about a mood swing._

"It was a r-rash decision, sweetie, I didn't mean… I wasn't trying to-"

"Well, do you consider yourself above them or not?!" He questioned, and I hesitated as I began to think through what he was saying. He was well known for testing boundaries; he'd done it with me before, either for his own personal gain or to prove a point. What if he was testing me? Trying to gauge how much authority I was capable of showing? I would've dispelled the idea if it weren't for the fact that when I glanced up at his eyes, there was the tiniest glint, the flicker of something other than anger nestled amongst green. It was on a similar tangent, but was more akin to passion than anything else.

_It's worth a shot, I guess; worst comes to worst, I'll end up with some injuries. I can handle it,_ I decided, pushing my abdomen away from the wall and closer to him, gesturing that I wasn't going to give in so easily. The moment I did, something popped in the atmosphere. Like a string being snipped in half, something detached itself in the air.

Mr J sensed it too; he paused, fists still clenched, but prepared to listen to me. I was more certain than ever that I was on the right track with proving myself worthy.

"Yes. I am saying that, actually. I will never match up to you and your excellence, Mr J, but I am a damn sight better than your _dogs_. I give you more than them… I offer you satisfaction, ideas… a distraction, something to take your anger out on but you know will have drivelling at your feet again in no time… Could the boys ever offer you that? No. I can, because I'm _better_. You know it." I said, aware that I was beginning to sound desperate and pleading, fighting it from my tone. The silence was brief and fizzled like the white noise of a television, popping loudly in my ears and making me wince, but I remained concentrated, hoping the heat of the moment would have some visible effect on how I presented myself; strong, fierce and determined. The Joker stretched a hand out again, but this time when it collided with my face, the impact was softer than before. It felt like he was taking in the feeling of my skin, rather than trying to leave his mark as he usually did.

"Oh, ideas, you say? Enlighten me, Harl, what do you have in mind?" I froze on the spot, taken aback by the swift change in events. He was actually going to ask for my input?

"Well, I saw that you were translating blueprints over risus sardonicus, but scratched the idea due to lack of supplies…" I began, fumbling with my nails as my head tilted to the ground, peeking up at his imposing form through my lashes.

"Go on…" He murmured, a low but surprisingly non-threatening growl within the base of his throat. Pride shot me in the chest as I realised that he was seriously considering my words.

"Well, there's hemlock water dropwort? It's incredibly poisonous and gives the victim a sardonic grin! I know someone who could getcha some, if you fancied it." I concluded, hands folding behind my back as I began to sway like a child waiting for a reward. _Please be impressed, please be impressed…_ my mind lulled, a steady mantra like a heartbeat pulsating through the nerves of my brains. Attention and approval was all I wanted, and from him, it was like finding a diamond.

"Excellent idea, Harl!" I hit crown jewels.

"Ya think?" I asked, enthusiasm lacing my tone as electricity shot through me.

"Who can supply you with them?"

"She's stuck in Arkham, the poor soul… last time we met, I was still a doctor. Although she had already sensed I was far gone by that point…" I recalled reading through the files of the woman I had in mind, knowing about her backstory as a botanist, before she was tangled up in a scandal involving my own ex-boyfriend. I felt nothing but sympathy for the poor girl, and wanted nothing more than to break her out of Arkham and free her. I didn't understand why they had her in a high-maintenance cell; the documents explaining the details of her condition were kept private, made available only to Dr. Arkham and any doctors overseeing Pamela's treatment.

"So you expect me to waste more time and energy on breaking out a new broad from Arkham?" He spat. I realised with a cringe that made my cheeks ache that I was losing his interest, and subsequently losing him, putting me in danger again.

"Well, n-no… I mean, I guess we could wait- she always finds ways of escaping. I just thought that-" Just as the Joker looked about ready to begin screaming, red fury beginning to show even through his pale complexion, the unexpected loud clang of the steel door caught our attention. I peered over the Joker's shoulder as he turned to stare in wonder and confusion as four huge men stumbled through the door, limping. One collapsed to the ground, causing the other to halt and tend to him, patting his shoulder and fetching him grubby glasses of misty water from the sink. I stared at Mr J expectantly, waiting for him to come to the men's aid. Instead, he glared at me before shrugging, as if to say, "do it yourself."

"Typical." I muttered as I rolled my eyes, pushing past the barricade that was the Joker's body, trotting over to the men. Four of the seven henchmen had survived; Rocko, Henshaw, Bill and Lucas. Henshaw lay on the ground, clammy hand pressed to his shoulder, applying pressure to what looked like a wound created from glass shards.

"The others?" I asked simply, trying not to dwell too much on it. I didn't like any of them much anyway.

"We lost Danny and Seb, and Jordan- but you knew about _him_ already." Lucas replied, a hint of accusation laced beneath his gruff voice's exterior. Hurt, I recoiled back a step- I was still trying to forget about the whole ordeal.

"Shut it, Lucas. It was an accident. You saw what happened." I defended weakly, hands beginning to tremble from anger. My skin cells were heating up, fizzling beneath my flesh, as my vision tinted scarlet.

"Lucas, just stop." Bill sighed, high-pitched voice making me grate my teeth.

"Bill, I can fight my own battles…" I warned quietly, staring at the ground, willing everyone to disappear into nothing so I could hold myself steady and calm down. I had no idea why I was so angry, but I put it down to tiredness and the stress of change. The fact that the Joker stood by and did nothing only made me feel worse; he didn't care, and it hurt and bit at me, tearing away what made me whole piece by piece.

"What use have you been so far, Harley? All you've done is risked all our lives, killing off three of our guys in the process. One of us, the youngest, killed by you directly. You haven't made anything better around here; even the boss wants you gone!" Lucas yelled, stomping forward to spit his daggers into my face. I flinched, before a sadistic smile crept onto my lips, playing at my obvious dimples. Behind my back, my hands curled instinctively around my trusty blade, and still the Joker stood by. I knew he could see what I was going to do, and yet he did nothing to stop me. Encouraged, my heart pounded as I drew the blade forward and sliced it through Lucas' meaty hand, splayed out at his side to gesture his emotion.

A masculine scream of agony tore through him, ending up in rasps due to his constant smoking. Satisfied, I left the knife in his hand, prepared to be reprimanded by the Joker for damaging one of his men.

I realised that I had literally damaged his property, and with a wince, I span on my heel, expecting to be greeted with a snarl of aggression and possibly my fate. However, when I bashfully blinked up at Mr J, a huge grin was plastered across his made-up face, as he began to slowly prowl towards me.

"I gotta say Harl, I'm impressed! Now Luke-"

"Lucas!" Bill retorted, face flushed with anger and protectiveness towards his friend.

"Shut up, _worm_," The Joker hissed, before coming to a stop right in front of me, "You took care of yourself very well, doll. You put yourself in a higher rank than them, and that's where you'll stay now. You're above them, which means they do whatever you ask without question." He continued, much to my squeals of delight. Any earlier doubt or worry about him not caring dissipated into the cool air of the damp warehouse; I was wrong. He cared for me enough to allow me to demonstrate my authority- if that wasn't love, I didn't know what love was.

"So I can boss 'em around, now?" I asked cautiously.

"Yep! Try it out!" He suggested. Flabbergasted and unsure where to begin, I clicked at Rocko.

"Rocko, I want a fresh load of clothes that I would approve of, handed in by tomorrow evening. Got it?" I demanded, stamping my foot in reminder. Rocko's head shot up, and he blushed at the thought of having to take care of women's clothing. The Joker chuckled, making my heart beat faster. I was no longer hot under the skin from anger, but from exhilaration and joy.

"And… er… Henshaw and Bill? I wantcha to break out a Miss Pamela Isley out of Arkham tomorrow. Get more guys involved if you have to. Just don't come back without her." I continued, allowing them to roll their eyes as I repeated a threat the Joker had used on them in the past, referring to me. After the moment of heated adrenaline passed, and the buzz of power had slowly fizzled until it only vibrated at the very tips of my fingers, I began to feel guilt burn the lining of my stomach at being so demanding with my newfound authority.

I glanced at Bill, who was frowning in concern at Lucas who now lay on the concrete floor, with only a dirtied rag to staunch the flow of blood from his new injury. His lips were cracked and faded until they were only slightly pinker than his skin, and his eyes had sunken in until they looked like mournful hollows; if he continued losing blood in his weakened condition, he could die. I knew that the Joker wouldn't take care of him, but simultaneously, would not want to lose any more henchmen. The numbers dwindled enough as it was.

"Bill," I murmured, quieter than before. Bill didn't look at me, only grumbling in response.

"I'll take care of him and nurse him back to health. Mr J needs as many men as possible. Besides, I am trained to look after the mentality of people, how much harder can physicality be?" I said. Bill's dark, tired eyes rose from the floor to my knees, and I sensed a hint of gratitude he was concealing within the mashed line his lips created. I was thankful to see that he was grateful; they'd still be wrapped around my little finger, but I needed them to understand that I was no tyrant.

"Excellent, Harl. You have fitted right into this little family we have in the warehouse. I gotta say kid, I'm impressed. After tonight, I can safely welcome you into the gang!" He exclaimed, arms flying out in dramatic flourish.

In pure ecstasy and with the beating heart of an excited adolescent, I threw my arms around him, crushing his torso to my own. I buried my head in his neck, breathing in the musty scent of his clothes and face paint, along with the choking scent of cigarettes that embraced my throat. I felt his rasping breath flutter against my hair, and I closed my eyes in delight. I had been wrong before- the warehouse wasn't my home. My home was in the Joker's arms.


End file.
